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“We have permission to study and document these animals. You can’t remove us!”
“Sir,” the Indian guide said in his half-English, “the Poona park reserve–closed! You, leave now.”
“We have a permit,” Nick exclaimed, holding out a piece of paper.
“No,” the guide screamed, snatching Nick’s permit from his hand and ripping it to pieces.
“You must leave now. I have contacted the authorities.”
Nick looked around at the group, who gave him reassuring looks to ‘calm down.’ He picked up his bags of cameras and slung his tripod over his back, motioning the group to the van. Tossing the equipment into the back, he closed the doors, looked at the guide and shot him the bird.
“How can they do that, Nick?” Jessica Simon, a colleague of his asked from the passenger seat.
“Because it’s politics. They can do whatever they damn well please. Why did I leave Green-Peace.”
The group was a mixed bunch: some were cameramen, some were equipment specialists. Then you had Jessica Simon, a biologist who specialized in birds and who had come with Nick to study the wildlife in the park.
Jessica was a girl of nearly twenty-five with a creamy complection and an unexplainable glow. Her hair was layered in a 1970's style, with long, flowing curls.
She and Nick had only met a month prior at a meeting at the National Geographic where they discussed this trek to India. She could tell Nick had the hots for her but she wasn’t gonna let him get that close: not yet anyways. She liked to tease her prospective lovers before allowing them in.
“Don’t worry guys,” Nick said, exhaling, “Our embassy will hear about thi–“
The satellite phone started ringing form its charging holster.
“Dun dun dun, dum-de dum, dum-de dum,” rang “Darth Vader’s Theme” with a bright march beat.
Nick leaned over and pushed the ‘send’ button.
“Nick here.”
“Mr. Van Owen, this is the United States embassy in–“
”Good timing! I just got kicked out of a nature reserve for no reason! National Geographic expects me back in a week with the Great Indian Hornbill fully documented. I can’t just be kicked out without a warning.”
There was a pause and the man on the phone laughed and began to speak.
“Mr. Van Owen–“
”–Nick.”
“Nick–we are aware of your problem and we have already spoken to the National Geographic. In fact they are reassigning you–that article is having a new team on it while you do this assignment.”
“Reassigning me? What do you mean?”
“Well, Mr.–Nick–the United Nations Creature Safety Commission is in need of your assistance.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s because it is a new organization. One specially put together to deal with the un-natural environment. More specifically, the dangers of it.”
“And you need me to do what exactly? Fly to Florida and take pictures of run-over Armadillo and write a paper on how they destroy car tires and carry Leprosy?”
“Not exactly Mr. Owen. We have a more specialized case we need you to work on. Something you have great experience in.”
Nick’s eyebrows rose sharply. The others in the van stared at him curiously. Nick knew exactly what he meant. Jessica looked at Nick with concerned eyes. Nick could tell everyone was watching and grabbed the satellite phone and taking it off of speaker-phone, put it to his ear.
