Evidently Caitlin was having similar concerns as Toby heard her voice pipe up nervously further along the trail. “Um, how much further is it”, she asked.
“Nearly there”, Marty answered breathlessly.
“Where exactly are you taking us?” Toby called.
The jungle abruptly opened out revealing a luxurious villa perched on a cliff top, surrounded by a wooden veranda illuminated with lanterns.
“Welcome to my humble abode”, Marty said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MARTY’S VILLA
Marty unlocked the front door and opened it with a flourish. Toby followed Caitlin and Eve into the house, savouring the crisp chill of the air-conditioning after the mugginess of the jungle. “Come in, come in”, said Marty, ushering them into a large, open-plan living room. The room was decorated in an expensive safari style. Luxurious bamboo couches, upholstered with zebra-print cushions were positioned around a futuristic wall-sized television. A massive dining table stood at the other end of the room, surrounded by wooden chairs, ornately carved like tribal thrones. Table lamps with leopard-print shades continued the safari-theme, artfully arranged around the room to give it a cosy, welcoming feel. Framed magazine covers adorned the teak-panelled walls, Marty’s face grinning from every one.
“Some quarantine bay”, murmured Caitlin, walking to the wall-length window that commanded a breathtaking view of the ocean.
Marty smiled with obvious satisfaction. “It’s not much, but I call it home.” He nudged Toby and looked meaningfully at Eve. “The only rule of the house is that all robot guests have to be disarmed.”
“You’re the boss”, said Toby. He turned to Eve who was standing at the foot of the stairs. “Eve, switch to energy conserve mode”, he ordered. The green light faded from the robot’s eyes. Toby pressed a series of concealed buttons on Eve’s wrist and her lower arm disengaged from just below the elbow. He repeated the process with Eve’s other arm then passed the prosthetic limbs to Marty.
Marty looked at the two silver arms, slightly taken aback. “I didn’t mean literally, but hey…” He placed the arms on a nearby shelf.
Toby and Caitlin sank gratefully into the couches and Marty bustled around them, the perfect host. “Now, can I get anyone a drink?” He walked to a wall and pressed a button and a door slid open, revealing an extensive drinks cabinet. “Whiskey, brandy, vodka…” He suddenly seemed to realize the youthful age of his two guests. “…Coke?”
Toby and Caitlin both nodded and Marty twirled back to the drinks cabinet like a professional bartender. “Two Cokes comin’ right up.” Marty produced two ice-cold cans of Coke from a tiny drinks refrigerator, snapped them open simultaneously and poured them into ice-filled tumblers. He handed them to Toby and Caitlin and they both gulped down the drinks gratefully.
“Plenty more where they came from”, Marty laughed, indicating the fridge. He turned and walked towards a high-tech kitchen that adjoined the living room. “I’ll go and rustle up some food. How does stir-fried prawns sound to you?”
“Great”, said Toby and Caitlin simultaneously. They looked at each other and both started to laugh.
“I don’t think I can take much more of this day”, giggled Caitlin.
“What’s the joke?” called Marty from the kitchen.
“I’ll go and give him a hand”, said Toby.
Toby joined Marty in the kitchen and watched him expertly chop spring onions, ginger and garlic. Marty talked as he cooked, seeming to enjoy having an audience. “You two haven’t lived until you’ve tried my stir-fried prawns”, he said, tossing a handful of plump juicy prawns into a smoking wok. “I do all my own cooking, I can’t abide that greasy Speed-Feed stodge they serve down at the studio. I thought about getting the network to ship me in a robo-chef, but you know what? The last thing I needed to see at the end of the day is another damn robot.” He gave a shrill little laugh. “So I do it all myself. Helps me unwind at the end of a stressful day, y’know?”
He turned to Toby and Toby saw with surprise that Marty was near to tears. He suddenly realized that cooking was Marty’s way of trying to deal with the horrific events of the day. He smiled and nodded sympathetically.
“Taught myself a few of the local dishes”, Marty continued, glancing out of the window. “And even if I say so myself, I’m a pretty good cook.” He diced a couple of lethal-looking chillis and tossed them into the wok. He saw Toby’s worried look and laughed. “Just enough to give it a kick, not blow your head off.” He gave the wok a good shake then glanced out of the window again, scanning the horizon.
Toby suddenly realized what Marty was looking for. “You’re looking for the ship?”
Marty looked at Toby quickly as if caught out, then nodded. Toby walked over to the kitchen window. He shielded his eyes from the reflected glare of the kitchen light and gazed out to sea. The moon hung low in the sky like a silver penny. A triangular ribbon of moonlight was reflected on the water, disappearing to a point as it reached the horizon and Toby could clearly see that there was no sign of the ship either at sea or moored in the bay below. “I guess if it passed this way, we would have missed it”, he said, turning away from the window. “Probably long gone.”
Marty nodded morosely. “And you can’t see all of the bay from here. There’s a natural harbour, just behind those trees. If the ship was in trouble, that’s exactly where the captain would have headed. We’ll check it out tomorrow.”
“Okay”, said Toby, not fooled by Marty’s optimistic tone.
Neither of them mentioned the third possibility of what could have happened to the missing ship.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GAME OVER
Marty added a carton of fresh noodles into the wok then poured in a generous glug of soy sauce. The pan sizzled dramatically, aromatic steam filling the kitchen and Toby suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry. Marty gave the wok a final stir, then served up the noodles in three bowls. They joined Caitlin in the living room and wolfed down the food. Toby greedily forked the steaming noodles into his mouth and chewed appreciatively. They were delicious, hot and spicy and full of unfamiliar flavours.
“Good?” asked Marty.
Toby and Caitlin nodded enthusiastically, slurping and chomping the noodles.
“That was yummy”, said Caitlin finally, sliding her bowl away. She luxuriantly stretched her arms over her head and her nose wrinkled. “Would it be okay if I took a shower?”
“Sure, the bathroom’s straight up, at the end of the hallway”, said Marty, pointing to the stairs. “The bedrooms are up there as well, when you’re ready to turn in.”
“Thanks”, said Caitlin, and headed up the stairs.
Marty went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a generous measure of Irish whiskey. “What a day, what a day”, he muttered. He turned to Toby. “Are you sure I can’t get you something stronger? I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”
Toby shrugged then nodded. Marty poured Toby a large whiskey and passed it to him. Toby gingerly took a sip and found the drink was smoother than he had imagined. They both sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks and listening to the ebb and flow of the ocean. Marty refilled Toby’s glass and Toby knocked it back, enjoying the warmth and numbness seeping through his body. He settled back into the soft couch and took an appreciative look around the room.
“Quite a place you’ve got here, Marty”, Toby slurred.
“I designed it myself”, said Marty, stroking the zebra-print couch reflectively. “My dream home. It’s gonna be difficult letting her go.”
Toby nodded and stared morosely into his glass. “It’s always difficult letting go of a dream.” Marty looked up, surprised at the depth of feeling in Toby’s voice and Toby nodded sombrely. “I had plans for that $10 million.” He took another swallow of whiskey, knowing it was making him drunk and maudlin and not caring. All the excitement and adrenalin was draining from his body and now he felt tired and heavy and depressed. He had
been convinced that winning the competition would have provided the funds to save Matt. But that was not to be. The competition was over and his brother was going to die. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Marty shook his head wistfully, lost in his own regrets. “Kiss those dreams goodbye…”
“Finito…”
“The End…”
“Game over…”
Marty looked up sharply, struck by Toby’s choice of words. “Game over…” he repeated to himself, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TOYMAKER TV
Less than 15 metres away, Ray De Coza was perched on the branch of a tree that overlooked Marty’s living room window. Despite being bitten by tree ants and mosquitoes he was enjoying himself enormously. He was immensely proud of managing to shadow Toby and the others unobserved and wished he had an audience to witness his tracking skills, maybe the guy at the army recruitment office who had turned him down all those years ago. And that trek through the jungle had been no joke either. Pitch black, no flashlight, trying to keep quiet in a jungle crawling with God knows what. He was a city guy and was used to city animals; cats, dogs, pigeons, the occasional surprised rat in the garbage collector robots he serviced. Not a jungle full of… things. But he had kept his cool all the way to the villa and as soon as Marty had taken the two kids inside he had climbed up the tree that grew next to the house, giving him a perfect view inside the living room window.
Not that there was too much to see, admittedly, unless you counted watching them all scoff down a Chinese and polish off the best part of a bottle of whiskey. The girl had already gone to bed, and by the look of things the other two weren’t far off. De Coza flicked a tree ant off of his hand then returned his attention to Marty and Toby. He’d give them five more minutes and then he was off.
Through the window, Marty yawned then climbed to his feet. “Well I guess I’m gonna turn in”, he announced. “Help yourself to one of the bedrooms when you’re ready to crash.”
Toby nodded without looking up from his glass and Marty headed upstairs. Toby’s head lolled forwards and De Coza realized he had fallen asleep on the couch. Disappointed, he prepared to climb back down the tree again.
The squeak of a door being quietly opened and De Coza froze. He looked back at the house and saw Marty furtively stepping out onto a balcony on the upper storey. He tiptoed down a flight of wooden stairs leading to the veranda and disappeared into the jungle.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” De Coza murmured and scrambled down the tree in pursuit.
The return trip to the fortress wasn’t as bad as De Coza had anticipated as he knew roughly what to expect and his eyes had adjusted to the gloom enough to see where he was going. But he was still grateful when they finally emerged from the suffocating canopy of trees and the fortress loomed out of the darkness. De Coza hung back as Marty slipped through the gates, heading towards the studio wing. All the other competitors were gathered at the other end of the courtyard, talking among themselves and none of them noticed Marty enter the studio.
De Coza gave Marty a 10-second head start before following him through the mangled shutters into the studio. Moonlight streamed through a jagged hole in the roof, illuminating a confusion of rubble, overturned office furniture and smashed broadcasting equipment. High above him the entire lighting grid was hanging at a precarious angle, spotlights dangling from it.
There was a sudden crash of falling masonry and De Coza looked up apprehensively, half-expecting to see the roof crashing down on him. The scrape and thud of falling masonry sounded again, followed by a small grunt of exertion and De Coza realized the sounds were coming from the production control room. He crept forwards and saw Marty manfully shoving a large jagged chunk of plasterboard from the console. It tilted off the edge and crashed to the ground. A curtain of masonry dust billowed up, enveloping Marty and he wafted his hand, trying to clear the air.
De Coza edged around the perimeter of a fallen gantry, trying to get a better view. He saw that Marty had unplugged the burnt-out Show-Runner and was now hunched over the console, his fingers working busily. He flipped a series of switches and the console whirred into life, illuminating Marty’s face with an aquarium glow. Marty uttered a small, exultant cry and flipped more switches, glancing at the video monitor wall. One by one the monitors started to power up, showing live video feed from different parts of the island.
Marty nodded in satisfaction then left the control room. De Coza was taken by surprise and hurriedly ducked behind an overturned desk. He peered out again and saw that Marty was making for the Toymaker’s set in the corner of the studio. The producer picked up one of the television cameras and sat before the Toymaker’s console, positioning the camera so that it was trained on him. He glanced at the video monitor wall and saw his own face in close-up on one of the screens. He picked up a cameraman’s earpiece and angled the microphone towards his mouth.
“Hello… Hello…” slurred Marty, “testing, testing, one, two, three. Anyone hear me?” He paused, waiting for a response, but there was nothing but the crackle of static. “Toymaker TV here with a message for Mr Rothman. You out there, Mr Rothman?” He leaned towards the television camera, rapping the lens with his knuckle. “Hey, Teddy-boy, can you hear me?”
Behind the desk, De Coza leaned forwards curiously.
“Just to let you know, the concealed cameras are fully operational, the live video feeds up and running. Everything’s ready to go.” Marty leaned towards the camera, a dangerous glint in his eye. “That ‘wild ride’ I promised you? You’re gonna get it in spades.”
And with a drunken giggle, Marty leaned forwards and pulled the lever on the Toymaker’s console, activating every robot on the island.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE TRAITOR
Outside in the courtyard, the smouldering giant robot statue had been transformed into a makeshift griddle, laden with sizzling burgers and hot-dogs. The competitors were gathered around it, eating, drinking and laughing. The absence of Toby and De Coza had lightened the mood considerably and the courtyard now had the atmosphere of a holiday get-to-know-you barbeque. The biker girls had raided on the Hospitality bar, returning with crates of beer, wine and spirits. Bottles of rum and brandy were being passed around freely and there was a lot of good-natured laughter.
Coach Kennedy had taken upon himself the role of short-order cook and had installed himself in the space between one of the massive arms and torso of the giant robot. The remains of the food Speed-Feeder were propped up beside him, its door-less freezer section containing stacks of rapidly defrosting hot dogs and beefburgers. Kennedy was sweating profusely from the heat but seemed happy to be doing something constructive.
McBride approached the robot statue and pointed to the row of frying hot dogs. “Gimme one of those, will you Coach?”
“You got it”, said Kennedy cheerfully. He grabbed a frankfurter from the griddle, dropped it into a bun, doused it in mustard and ketchup from the Speed-Feeder’s dispensers, then handed it to McBride.
“Thanks”, said McBride. He attacked the hot dog, devouring it in three quick bites and then wandered over to the others. The Scannell twins stood nearby, napkins tucked neatly into their dentist smock collars, each clutching a hot dog dripping with ketchup. They caught McBride’s eye and gave him an identical chilling smile. McBride shuddered and quickly moved on. He approached Bubba, Billy-Bob and Thumper who were sitting in a row against the concrete plinth of the robot statue drinking beers.
Billy-Bob passed McBride a bottle. “Here’s to being marooned in tropical paradise”, he said and clinked bottles with McBride.
“Salute”, said McBride with a grin and chugged back the beer.
He heard the cackle of drunken laughter behind him and turned. He saw that Roadkill, Uzi-Rider and Typhoid Mary were engaged in some sort of drinking game that seemed to involve each girl creating the most lethal cocktail possible from the array o
f bottles and challenging the other two to drink it in the fastest time. McBride wandered over to watch then saw De Coza run out of the shadows towards him.
“You’re never gonna believe this”, said De Coza breathlessly. “I followed Marty back to the studio. He’s in there reporting back to the network in LA, saying stuff about hidden cameras and how he’s ready to start filming!”
“Start filming what?” said McBride. “The show’s finished.”
“What if it isn’t?” said De Coza, his eyes gleaming.
“What do you mean, ‘what if it isn’t?’” said McBride.
De Coza looked around the group of competitors who had now gathered around him. “What if the show’s still running?”
“What are you, nuts?” said Roadkill. “We were blown halfway to Hell!”
“But what if that was just part of the show?”
McBride started to laugh. “Ray, I know this show’s got a reputation for being extreme but I think even they would draw the line at decapitating their own presenter!”
De Coza walked over to the spot where Hacker was killed and picked up Hacker’s discarded helmet. “This is a TV show we’re talking about, right? So who’s to say that wasn’t some sort of special effects dummy that went down?” He gestured at the charred crater where Hacker fell. “There’s no body, is there?”