“Get me that helicopter pilot!” Marani screamed. He picked up an expensive-looking piece of equipment from the desk and threw it violently against the steel wall of the office. It shattered, making him feel only marginally better. He didn’t know what it had been—probably something to do with the oil platform—and he didn’t particularly care. He swore in three different languages as he raged about the office while three of his subordinates tried their best to keep out of his way.
“Someone will pay!” he shouted. “Pay! You hear me!”
Balanari cleared his throat. “Are you sure he’s on the Island?”
“It has to be him. It has to be.”
Balanari shifted, eyeing his companions nervously. “What do you want us to do?”
“Kill him!” Manari shouted, fists clenched. “No! Wait. Better yet, bring him to me alive so I can kill him! I’ll give whoever brings me his head $10,000!”
The three men blinked and looked at each other in confusion. Finally Balanari asked, “Boss, do you want him dead or alive?”
“What are you? An idiot? I told you I want him alive so I can kill him.”
“So the ten grand is for bringing him to you alive?”
Manari growled. “Just bring him to me, you idiots, or I’ll see to it that you fill the belly of one of those stupid dragons.”
“Aye!” they shouted in unison.
“Find John Dale. He’s on the Island and he’s been helping those kids.”
“Um, boss? It’s a big island. It’ll take us a long time to locate him all by ourselves.”
Manari’s eyes bulged. “Get me the President.”
“The US president?”
“Idiot! I’m surrounded by idiots! Of course the US President. I want to speak to him right now!”
Balanari sprang to the wall where an old style phone hung. He picked it up and began speaking into it while Manari paced, hands gesturing wildly. “If my boss finds out about this, I’m a dead man. A dead man! You hear me?” He muttered to himself until Balanari held out the phone. “The President?”
“Aye.”
The mob leader snatched the receiver. “Mr. President, I don’t know what little game you have been playing with me, but it stops right here, right now. I know about John Dale. I know he’s on the Island, and I know he’s been helping those kids. I know too, Mr. President, that a single phone call from me will invalidate your investment and you will lose it all. Do you understand me? You’ll lose it all. You will send a squad of troops to the Island to kill John Dale—” Manari cut off as Balanari began gesturing frantically, trying to get his attention. “What do you want, you idiot? No, not you, Mr. President—though I wonder about that. What were you thinking anyway—wait. Hold on. What do you want?” he finished, shouting at Balanari.
Balanari had kept gesturing up to this point. Now he froze and swallowed hard. “You want him alive, remember?”
“Of course I want him alive. What are you going on about?”
“You told the President to kill him.”
“No, I didn’t! Stop interrupting.” He spoke into the receiver again. “As I was saying, I want you to send the best, most elite squad of soldiers you have. I want John brought to me in chains. Do you understand me, Mr. President? Chains!” He slammed the receiver back home and rounded on his men. “Interrupt me again, Balanari, and I swear, I’ll cut out your tongue.”
“What about the game?” Darmon asked hesitantly. “Do we keep broadcasting it?”
“No. Cut it off. We’ve already been made a mockery of. I don’t see why we should keep broadcasting it. There is nothing to show anyway. John has somehow spirited them away.”
“What do we tell Rome?”
“Tell them nothing. You hear me? Nothing! Tell them that an enemy combatant bent on spoiling the game has been sabotaging our efforts. Tell them that he sabotaged the video feed somehow. Got it?”