Now in mass-market—the action-packed thriller in the blockbuster and bestselling tradition of Jurassic Park from #1 internationally bestselling author Matthew Reilly! It is a secret the Chinese government has been keeping for forty years. They have proven the existence of dragons—a landmark discovery no one could ever believe is real, and a scientific revelation that will amaze the world. Now the Chinese are ready to unveil their astonishing findings within the greatest zoo ever constructed. A small group of VIPs and journalists has been brought to the zoo deep within China to see these fabulous creatures for the first time. Among them is Dr. Cassandra Jane “CJ” Cameron, a writer for National Geographic and an expert on reptiles. The visitors are assured by their Chinese hosts that they will be struck with wonder at these beasts, that the dragons are perfectly safe, and that nothing can go wrong. Of course it can’t… “Plenty of action....For over-the-top adventure addicts, a Reilly novel is like a new roller coaster opening at Great America. Lines form, fans swoon” ( Booklist).
Release date:
January 27, 2015
Publisher:
Gallery Books
Print pages:
416
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The sleek private jet shot through the sky above the South China Sea, carrying two passengers who had never flown in a private jet before: CJ Cameron and her brother, Hamish.
The plane was a Bombardier Global 8000, the most expensive private aircraft in the world, the jet of choice for Saudi princes and Russian billionaires. This Bombardier, however, did not belong to any individual. It belonged to the Chinese government.
Dr. Cassandra Jane “CJ” Cameron peered out her window as the plane landed at Hong Kong International Airport, an ultramodern facility that had been constructed on an enormous man-made island.
“Is there anything China can’t build?” CJ said, gazing out her window.
“I heard they built some wholly fake Apple Stores,” Hamish said. “Did you read about that? It wasn’t just a few counterfeit iPhones, they were whole frigging stores. They even had Genius Bars. All the employees thought they really were working for Apple!”
CJ threw a sideways glance at her brother. “Wiseass.”
A black Maybach limousine was waiting for them at the base of the jet’s airstairs. Standing beside it was a pretty young Chinese woman dressed in a perfectly pressed navy skirt-suit. Not a hair on her head was out of place. She had a Bluetooth earpiece in her ear that looked to CJ like it lived there permanently. When she spoke, her English was flawless.
“Dr. Cameron, Mr. Cameron, welcome to China,” she said. “My name is Na and I will be your escort during your stay here. Should you require anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to ask. Nothing is too much trouble.”
Na ushered them into the Maybach, which whisked them out a side gate. No Customs and Immigration. The limo then took them to the Four Seasons where they were put up in penthouse suites, all expenses paid. The next morning, they were told, they would be picked up at 9:00 a.m. sharp.
This was all very unusual for CJ Cameron.
Once a renowned herpetologist—a reptile expert—these days CJ worked as a vet at the San Francisco Zoo. At thirty-six, she was a petite five foot six, with piercing amber eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair.
CJ was fit, athletic, and pretty in a sporty kind of way. Men often approached her, only to turn away abruptly when they came close enough to see the grisly scars that dominated the left side of her face.
The scars stretched all the way from her left eye to the corner of her mouth, looking like a sequence of poorly aligned Xs. The ophthalmic surgeon had saved her eyesight. And the plastic surgeon, one of the best in America, had managed to reconstruct her jaw, but the slashing wounds to her left cheek had proven to be too much even for him.
CJ didn’t care. For vapid men or for herpetology, not after the incident. All her life she had been something of a tomboy anyway. She didn’t bother with makeup and she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. She lived outdoors: hiking, camping, horse riding. A keen horsewoman, she sometimes preferred the company of horses to people.
Once upon a time, she’d been a star lecturer at the University of Florida’s Division of Herpetology, widely regarded as the best reptile faculty in America. Specializing in alligator research, she’d worked mainly at the university’s field site in the Everglades.
But not anymore.
In addition to her doctorate in herpetology, she was also a trained veterinarian, and now she worked as far from alligators as possible, tending to sick and injured animals in the clinic at the San Francisco Zoo.
Which was why she’d been surprised when her old boss from National Geographic, Don Grover, had called and asked if she’d go to China to write a piece on some big new zoo.
“No thanks,” CJ had said.
“It’s all expenses paid. Private jet. Swanky hotel.”
“That sort of thing doesn’t impress me, Don.”
“The Chinese asked specifically for you.”
That stopped her.
“Really?”
“They’ve read your stuff. Done their homework. They mentioned the pieces you did for Nature on the hunting behavior of saltwater crocodiles and the Nat Geo documentary you did with Bill Lynch on alligator vocalizations. The Chinese asked for Lynch to go over there and write a piece on this zoo, but then he died in that plane crash. Now they want you.”
CJ had been saddened by the news of Bill’s death. He had taught her everything she knew and had begged her not to leave the university after the incident.
“They also know you speak Mandarin,” Grover said. “Which is a big plus.”
That had been CJ’s father’s idea. When she and Hamish had been little, their father, a humble insurance salesman with an insatiable curiosity and a penchant for dragging his two children away on unbearable camping trips, had insisted on them taking Mandarin lessons: “The future of the world is China, kids,” he’d said, “so you should learn their language.” It had been good advice. Their dad wasn’t rich or famous, but he’d been ahead of his time on that one. As for the camping trips, he would always dismiss their whining complaints with the cheerful phrase, “Hey, it’s character building.”
“Photos, too?” CJ had asked Grover.
“It’s a full-feature spread, kid. Come on, do it for me. The Chinese government is gonna pay me a king’s ransom for this. It’ll cover my bills for five years, and your fee will pay yours for ten.”
“I want to bring my own photographer,” CJ said flatly.
“Who?”
“Hamish.”
“Goddamn it, CJ. So long as I don’t have to bail him out of jail for deflowering some senior minister’s daughter—”
“Deal breaker, Don.”
“Okay, okay. You can take your stupid brother. Can I call the Chinese back and say you’re in?”
“All right. I’m in.”
And so, a week later, CJ and her brother had boarded the private jet bound for China.
AT NINE O’CLOCK the next morning, CJ and Hamish arrived in the lobby of the hotel to find Na and the Maybach waiting for them in the turnaround. Na was again dressed in her perfect navy skirt-suit and wearing the Bluetooth earpiece in her ear.
CJ wore her standard field clothes: hiking boots, tan cargo pants, black San Francisco Giants T-shirt and a battered brown leather jacket. Around her neck she wore a leather strap, hanging from which was a three-inch-long saltwater crocodile tooth: a gift from Bill Lynch. She wore her hair tied back in a careless ponytail. After all, they were just visiting a zoo.
She and Hamish slid into the backseat of the Maybach, their destination a military airbase twenty miles inland.
While CJ was immune to the charms of expensive hospitality, Hamish wasn’t. Sitting in the back of the limo, he munched on not one but two packets of potato chips.
“How cool is this, Chipmunk?” he grinned. “Free mini bar.”
“There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Hamish.”
“But there are such things as free plane rides, free penthouse suites in six-star hotels and”—a surreptitious glance at Na up in the front of the limo—“free bathroom products.”
CJ rolled her eyes. “You didn’t steal the hotel shampoo?”
“And the conditioner.” Hamish wore his tattered multi-pocketed photojournalist’s vest over a Bob Dylan T-shirt. He lifted the flap on one pocket to reveal four hotel-sized shampoo and conditioner bottles. “It’s Molton Brown. That’s top-shelf.”
“Why do you need shampoo? You hardly bathe anyway.”
“I bathe.” Hamish sniffed his underarms.
“You’re an idiot.”
“No. I’m awesome.” Hamish settled into the seat beside her and resumed munching his chips.
They couldn’t have been more different, CJ and Hamish, in size and in personality. The Bear and the Chipmunk, that’s what their mother had called them.
It suited.
Four years younger than CJ and a towering six foot three inches tall, Hamish was large in every way: a photographer and videographer who had done tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, he lived large, partied hard, drank a bit too much and was always getting into trouble. He even had oversized features: a big face, square jaw, huge blue eyes and a great booming voice. He rarely shaved. He wore a red rubber Wrist-Strong bracelet on his right wrist intertwined with a couple of hemp surfer wristbands.
CJ, on the other hand, had always been the good girl: quiet, mature, unobtrusive and very academic. Having a near-photographic, or eidetic, memory helped with that.
While Hamish went to war zones and parties, she’d worked away at the university, penning papers on her specialty, reptilian behavior, specifically that of crocodiles and alligators. Among other things, it was CJ who had quantified the intelligence of big crocodilians, proving they were as smart as or even smarter than chimpanzees.
Other intelligent animals—like chimps, wolves and hyenas—might set simple traps. Crocodiles often set traps several days in advance. If an eighteen-foot saltwater crocodile saw you coming down to a riverbank at 7:30 a.m. for four days in a row to check your lobster cages, on the fifth day it would wait at the water’s edge, just below the surface, and pounce when you arrived. Crocodiles had extraordinary patience and amazing memories. Their ability to spot routine was incredible: sometimes they would set up ambushes based on the weekly, even monthly routines of their prey.
CJ’s considerable professional success had not been reflected in her personal life. While Hamish had gone through a swathe of girlfriends over the years, CJ had not had many serious boyfriends, just the one in fact, Troy, and that had ended badly: immediately after the incident that had destroyed her face. Only Hamish had stayed by her side, her ever-loyal brother.
“Is everything okay back there?” Na said from the passenger seat up front.
“We’re fine,” CJ said, glancing at her brother’s stolen hair care products.
“Remember, nothing is too much trouble,” Na said as the limo turned off the main road and zoomed through the gates of the airbase without stopping. Clearly, Na had called ahead. “If you need anything, just ask.”
The Maybach drove out onto the runway, where CJ saw the Bombardier from the previous day waiting for them, its airstairs folded open. Only today, CJ noticed, there was something different about the private jet.
All its windows had been blacked out.
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