At least no one was shooting at him. He breathed easier as he reached the cockpit of the helicopter. He had to climb onto a vine-covered pile of lava rocks to peer inside. The pilot and the copilot, both dressed in the same commando gear, were unconscious, though he couldn’t tell more than that.
He relayed that news to the others, who took it as permission to come closer. Together, they pulled the door open, then Robert and Bjorn helped him climb through it.
His first impression was that no one had survived this crash. The damage to the helicopter wasn’t too bad, but everyone seemed to be unconscious. Maybe they’d lost oxygen. That would explain why they’d crashed. If the pilot and copilot had passed out from lack of oxygen, the craft would have been doomed.
But where was Lincoln? Finally, after climbing past everyone else to the very rear, he found his boss. Lincoln too was unconscious, but he was wearing an oxygen mask. All the commandos were wearing military headgear, goggles and so forth—maybe that had impaired their ability to get their oxygen masks on.
Rory put two fingers on Lincoln’s neck.
Alive. But barely.
Amazing. The higher powers must have a good reason for wanting Lincoln Kerr alive.
He checked the others, but no one else had a pulse. Had they all suffocated when the oxygen cut off? Horrifying.
But at least his overnight bag was undamaged. Just to make sure, he unzipped it and felt around for the med kit. There it was, still wrapped in his hoodie. He zipped it back up, grabbed Lincoln’s briefcase, and tossed them both out of the helicopter.
“One survivor, and that’s Lincoln,” he told Robert and Bjorn. “But I can’t find a gurney in here.”
“No worries,” Robert said calmly. “We’ll do it jungle style.”
Later, as they trudged slowly through the jungle, carrying Lincoln on a makeshift gurney formed from bamboo stalks and hala leaves, Robert said, “You were wrong about his karma, Bjorn. This guy is favored by the gods. How do you survive two plane crashes in less than a week?”
“Well, he is a Kerr, after all,” said Bjorn, who was clearing the way for the gurney. “You gotta be lucky to be born into that family. Energy.” He turned to Rory, who was carrying the front of the gurney. “I just remembered.”
“What?” Rory’s muscles flexed as he adjusted his grip on the long stalks of bamboo they’d used to form the frame of the gurney.
“Alternative energy. That’s one new area the Kerr Group had been exploring recently. Hydrogen fusion, that sort of thing. Anything experimental. Come to think of it, I think that might have started the conflict with his sister, Maureen. She didn’t like those high-risk investments. It’s more of a long-term kind of thing because it’s exploratory. You don’t know if or when it’ll pay off. She was more into guaranteed returns.”
Energy. Now that was interesting. Could the mysterious crystal have some connection to an experimental energy source?
He racked his brain for any overheard mention of such a thing, but came up empty. Testament to how careful Lincoln was to keep his business confidential.
“What should we do about those other guys back there?” Robert asked. “We could either call the nearest emergency services or contact Lincoln’s security team,” Rory told him. “Or do both.”
“Let’s do both. I’m tired of these armed assholes running amok in our jungle.”
“Agreed.” Rory checked the sky—the sun was dropping fast into the canopy. The mosquitos were coming thick and furious. Night was on its way. “Can we make it back before dark?”
“No, but don’t worry. The menehune don’t bite.”
“Is anyone ever going to tell me what these menehune are?” Rory glanced around the jungle nervously. All he saw was soaring thick tree trunks shrouded in vines with leaves as big as surfboards. The only creatures he’d seen so far were birds and a wild pig rooting in the leaf debris on the jungle floor.
“If you’re really lucky, you’ll see one for yourself.”
Robert and Bjorn laughed, and Rory resigned himself to being the butt of their joke until he could access the internet. He could hardly complain, after he’d deceived them all about his identity. If this was his punishment, he could live with that.
On the gurney, Lincoln gave a muttered groan.
They paused between the fringed overhang of a coconut palm and the spiky leaves of a hala. “Lincoln,” Rory said softly. “Can you hear me? It’s Rory.”
“What…”
“You’ve been in another crash. Do you remember?”
“Crash…Rory. Can’t say. Rory. I’m Rory,” he mumbled.
Oh shit. Had he broken his boss’ brain by making him switch identities when he’d just woken up from a coma? This was a disaster.
