Days went by. The government was polite, and put them up in a nice hotel in San Jose. They were free to come and go, and to call whomever they wished. But they were not permitted to leave the country. Each day a young man from the American Embassy came to visit them, to ask if they needed anything, and to explain that Washington was doing everything it could to hasten their departure. But the plain fact was that many people had died in a territorial possession of Costa Rica. The plain fact was that an ecological disaster had been narrowly averted. The government of Costa Rica felt it had been misled and deceived by John Hammond and his plans for the island. Under the circumstances, the government was not disposed to release survivors in a hurry. They did not even permit the burial of Hammond or Ian Malcolm. They simply waited.

Each day it seemed to Grant he was taken to another government office, where he was questioned by another courteous, intelligent government officer. They made him go over his story, again and again. How Grant had met John Hammond. What Grant knew of the project. How Grant had received the fax from New York. Why Grant had gone to the island. What had happened at the island.

The same details, again and again, day after day. The same story.

For a long time, Grant thought they must believe he was lying to them, and that there was something they wanted him to tell, although he could not imagine what it was. Yet, in some odd way, they seemed to be waiting.

Finally, he was sitting around the swimming pool of the hotel one afternoon, watching Tim and Lex splash, when an American in khakis walked up.

"We've never met," the American said. "My name is Marty Guitierrez. I'm a researcher here, at the Carara station."

Grant said, "You were the one who found the original specimen of the Procompsognathus"

That's right, yes." Guitierrez sat next to him. "You must be eager to go home."

"Yes," Grant said. "I have only a few days left to dig before the winter sets in. In Montana, you know, the first snow usually comes in August."

Guitierrez said, "Is that why the Hammond Foundation supported northern digs? Because intact genetic material from dinosaurs was more likely to be recovered from cold climates?"

"That's what I presume, yes."

Guitierrez nodded. "He was a clever man, Mr. Hammond."

Grant said nothing. Guitierrez sat back in the pool chair.

"The authorities won't tell you," Guitierrez said finally. "Because they are afraid, and perhaps also resentful of you, for what you have done. But something very peculiar is happening in the rural regions."

"Biting the babies?"

"No, thankfully, that has stopped. But something else. This spring, in the Ismaloya section, which is to the north, some unknown animals ate the crops in a very peculiar manner. They moved each day, in a straight line-almost as straight as an arrow-from the coast, into the mountains, into the jungle."

Grant sat upright.

"Like a migration," Guitierrez said. "Wouldn't you say?"

"What crops?" Grant said.

"Well, it was odd. They would only eat agama beans and soy, and sometimes chickens."

Grant said, "Foods rich in lysine. What happened to these animals?"

"Presumably," Guitierrez said, "they entered the jungles. In any case, they have not been found. Of course, it would be difficult to search for them in the jungle. A search party could spend years in the Ismaloya mountains, with nothing to show for it."

"And we are being kept here because…"

Guitierrez shrugged. "The government is worried. Perhaps there are more animals. More trouble. They are feeling cautious."

"Do you think there are more animals?" Grant said.

"I can't say. Can you?"

"No," Grant said. "I can't say."

"But you suspect?"

Grant nodded. "Possibly there are. Yes."

"I agree."

Guitierrez pushed up from his chair. He waved to Tim and Lex, playing in the pool. "Probably they will send the children home," he said. "There is no reason not to do that." He put on his sunglasses. "Enjoy your stay with us, Dr. Grant. It is a lovely country here."

Grant said, "You're telling me we're not going anywhere?"

"None of us is going anywhere, Dr. Grant," Guitierrez said, smiling. And then he turned, and walked back toward the entrance of the hotel.