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A distinct quiet settled over the group.

But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.

Kostos hung his head, as well he should.

Nate finally spoke. What about Kelly and Frank?

Ali, the missing members of the group Louis was not surprised it was Nate who brought up the question. Don't worry about their health. They'll be coming with my party, Louis explained. I've been in contact with my financiers. Monsieur O'Brien will prove an ideal guinea pig to investigate this regenerative process. The scientists at St. Savin are itching to get their hands and instruments on him:

Kostos glanced away.

But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.

Kostos glanced away.

What are you going to do with us? Nate said. It was not a plea, but a simple question.

I'll leave your deaths to the U.S. military, he said sadly, the emotion surprisingly unfeigned.

Satisfied, he strode over to the line of segregated prisoners, the survivors of the Ranger team, baking and burning under the sun. They sat slightly apart from the remaining members of the Ban-ali tribe.

The sergeant finally spoke, awkward with shame. The napalm mini-bombs. We were under orders to find the source of the miraculous compound. Once a sample was secured, we were to destroy the source. Total annihilation:'

What are you going to do with us? Nate said. It was not a plea, but a simple question.

I'll leave your deaths to the U.S. military, he said sadly, the emotion surprisingly unfeigned.

What are you going to do with us? Nate said. It was not a plea, but a simple question.

In fact, he found himself somewhat respecting the young man. Throughout the journey here, Nathan had demonstrated both ingenuity and a stout heart, even dispatching Louis's spy. And finally, here at the end, he had proven his loyalty, with a willingness to sacrifice his own life for his team. Admirable qualities, even if they were directed at cross purposes to Louis's own.

But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.

Nate finally spoke. What about Kelly and Frank?

Satisfied, he strode over to the line of segregated prisoners, the survivors of the Ranger team, baking and burning under the sun. They sat slightly apart from the remaining members of the Ban-ali tribe.

Louis stared at his catch, slightly disappointed that they hadn't offered more of a challenge. The two Rangers glared back at him murderously. The small Asian anthropologist had calmed significantly, eyes closed, lips moving in prayer, resigned. Kouwe sat stoically. Louis stopped in front of the last prisoner in the lineup.

But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.

Raising an arm, Louis pointed back to the small group of men gathered around the giant tree. They were his own demolitions team. Against the white bark of the trunk, the Rangers' remaining nine minibombs appeared like flat black eyes peering toward them. Thanks to the U.S. government, there's enough firepower here to wipe out even a giant monster of a tree like this one:

But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.

Nathan Rand's gaze was as hard as the Rangers; but there was a glint of something more. A vein of icy determination.

Kostos glanced away.

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