“Why Didn’t We Build In New York?”

A worker climbs to the top of the crate. The search lights are trained on the door. The rifleman throw the bolts on their rifles and crack their stun guns, sending arcs of current cracking through the air. The worker gets ready to grab the gate when all at once A roar from the inside the crate, and the panel flies out of his hands and smacks into him, knocking him clear off the crate. Now everything happens at once. The worker thuds to the jungle floor, the crate jerks away from the mouth of the holding pen flash, an alarm buzzer sounds “Shoot her!”

Ned looks up and sees a man get out of a taxi – Lewis Dodson, fiftyish, wearing a large straw hat and looking almost too much like an American tourist. Dodson clutches as attaché case close to him and scans the cafe furtively. Nedry laughs, shakes his head, and waves to him. “Dodgson!” Dodgson hurries over to the table. “You shouldn’t use my name.” “Dodgson, Dodgson! We got Dodgson here! See, nobody cares. Nice hat. What are you trying to look like, a secret agent?”