Page 54 of The Night Island


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“Assuming Gill didn’t find them when he searched Keever’s cabin.”

“Assuming that, yes.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“I don’t think anyone is paying attention to Keever’s cabin,” Luke said.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Octavia was goingto fuck up the score of a lifetime. What was wrong with the bitch? Back at the start she had wanted the payoff as much as he did. Now she was threatening to walk.

Clive sank into a chair, hoisted the bottle, and took a long swallow. The whiskey hit him with a soothing warmth. Some of the anxiety that had been eating at him all day melted away.

He hated the damned island as much as Octavia did. When they had signed the contract Gill hadn’t said anything about the weird plants and the freaky weather and the scary Night Gardener.

Gill hadn’t mentioned the boredom factor, either. That was the worst of it, Clive decided. It hadn’t been so bad at first when bookings had usually included at least a couple of attractive females who were eager to learn the secrets of the Venner version of tantric sex. But reservations had plummeted in October and now it was November. Bookings were down to a trickle. December would be even worse.

The last month of the contract was going to be miserable, butcome January he would be free. The money would be waiting for him. Octavia could do whatever she wanted after that. But he could not let her leave now. Gill had made it clear the entire contract would be voided if either of them left the island before the end date.

Octavia had become a problem. Thanks to a handful of online reviews celebrating her cooking, she had made the mistake of concluding that she was the star of the show. That was bullshit. She would be nowhere without him. He was the talent. Under other circumstances he would have been delighted to see her leave, but he could not let her jeopardize the whole project, not when they were so close to the endgame.

Clive drank some more whiskey and wondered if Gill had heard the argument in the office. According to the Institute, he was on site to handle any security problems that might arise with the guests, but Clive knew that he was also there to make certain the employees stayed on task. If Octavia really did pack her bags and get on the next ferry, Gill was not going to be happy. He was already quietly furious because Keever had dropped dead of a heart attack.Or something.

Who knew what was going on inside the conservatory and underground? Clive thought. All he and Octavia had been told was that the Institute was conducting top secret botanical experiments for an intelligence agency and that some of the plants were poisonous. Gill, the Night Gardener, and Keever were the only ones allowed inside the big glass house and the underworld. Now Keever was dead. Had he threatened to leave? Had Gill murdered him to keep him from breaking the contract? That seemed more than a little extreme. Keever had appeared harmless.

If Gill had murdered Keever, how had he done it? Poison, maybe.

The thought of Gill sent a shiver down Clive’s spine. After a moment he got up, lowered the window shades, and locked the door.Octavia would not be coming back to the cabin tonight. She would spend the night in the old housekeeper’s room in the lodge, just as she always did whenever they had one of their quarrels. So damned temperamental.

He had to talk to her, convince her not to leave.

The rattle of the doorknob startled him so badly he dropped the whiskey bottle on the threadbare rug. Panic kicked up his pulse. He started to sweat. He was suddenly glad he had thrown the bolt on the door.

He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths, picked up the bottle, and set it on the small table.

“Just a minute,” he called.

He crossed to the window and twitched the curtain aside. When he saw who stood on the front step he relaxed. He opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The plants weremore agitated than usual tonight.

It was as if they were aware of the storm on the surface, Pomona Finch thought. Maybe that was precisely what was happening. She wondered if they had a way of pulling the violent energy down through the rock and steel that insulated the underground lab. There was so much she did not know about the amazing specimens that thrived in the vast gardens beneath the surface of the island. So much to be discovered.

She set the Bunsen burner aside, picked up the canister of herbicide, and went to the doorway of the lab. A thrill of excitement hit her when she contemplated the seemingly impenetrable wall of greenery. The horticultural jungle sprawled throughout the human-engineered tunnels. There was no telling how extensive the gardens were. Some sectors were so choked with vegetation they had become impassable. In other regions the plants were simply too dangerous.

The only thing that made it possible to navigate the underworld gardens was the narrow path set with slabs of radiant crystal. Theplants had an aversion to the blue light that illuminated the stones and the interior of the lab.

The vegetation thrived on its own version of day and night. Days were marked by a violet radiance that emanated from the walls and the ceiling. The light changed to acid green during the artificial night. The bizarre atmosphere was enhanced by the bioluminescence of the vegetation, which varied from species to species and hybrid to hybrid.

The plants were certainly active now. The leaves and vines rustled and whispered. A thrashing noise could be heard in the areas where the more aggressive species flourished. The atmosphere was getting hotter and more humid.

Six months ago, when she had begun her work on Night Island, the underworld had been comfortably warm. But recently the temperature had been rising. So had the humidity. The changes had been imperceptible at first, but now they could no longer be ignored. The atmosphere in the underground gardens felt like a tropical rainforest. She was convinced that the dead bodies were the problem. They acted like a powerful fertilizer.

She would have to be firm with Nathan Gill. He could no longer use her gardens as a convenient dumping ground. He needed to find another way to get rid of the failures, mistakes, and problems.

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