DR. CATALYST COULDN’T BELIEVE HIS EYES. THE DOYLE brat was right. On the monitor before him were a half dozen news broadcasts from various South Florida stations. All of them were showing his photo. How had this happened?

Then he knew. Yaha had betrayed him. It was the only possible explanation. All his planning. The years of energy and expense. Now everything was in danger of coming to a crashing halt.

The broadcasts summarized his entire life story. He was orphaned at a very young age on the reservation. He was taken in and raised on the rez by relatives, but their means were limited. When the offer came from a young couple to adopt him, it was decided it was in the child’s best interest. His adoptive parents were Philip and Marybeth Geaux, young heirs to one of Florida’s last great sugar-growing families. They named him Philip Geaux Jr. He grew up surrounded by enormous wealth and privilege. Just as he was leaving for college, his adoptive parents were killed in an automobile accident. They left Philip their vast fortune, but no other family. After college, Philip resurfaced on the Seminole reservation. He married a woman from the tribe and fathered a son with her, but she divorced him when the boy was very young. When he turned his attention to environmental issues, his views grew more and more radical, until even his fellow tribesmen — who were always deeply concerned with the preservation of the Everglades — wanted nothing to do with him.

He was later presumed dead when his airboat was discovered crashed and burned in the Everglades. But his body was never found. In a strange coincidence, his son, Lucas Geaux, who became a well-known hunter and Everglades guide, was also presumed perished in an airboat accident.

And now Philip Geaux Jr. had resurfaced as Dr. Catalyst. Ecoterrorist.

It was all there, his entire story. How could this be? He was no terrorist! He was a visionary! If the Doyle brat hadn’t interfered, and Yaha had kept his trap shut, he would be well on his way to saving the Everglades! It was their fault. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to him?

Dr. Catalyst stood and stalked through the barn, back and forth, trying to think. He doubted anyone could find this location. All of his many properties had been purchased under layers of false names, dummy corporations, and fake identities. The authorities might know who he really was, but that did not mean they could find him easily.

He strode across the barn to the corner opposite from where he had locked up Emmet Doyle. There stood the pen for his Swamp Cat. The beast was inside the cage and appeared to be mimicking his back-and-forth movement. When he drew near to the enclosure, the beast lunged toward him, its peculiar roar echoing off the walls of the barn. It was a frightening beast. Every part of it, from its mouthful of teeth to the claws on its feet, made it look powerful and deadly. It turned away and prowled toward the corner, melting into the shadows of its cage. It could likely smell Emmet close by. No doubt this was driving the creature mad with hunger.

Dr. Catalyst knew what he must do. He returned to the room he was using as his office and laboratory. He turned on his computer and began sending all of his data — his calculations and formulas, years of experiments — to a secure server at a data farm only he knew about. It would take several hours for all of it to transfer, but by then he would be long gone.

And so would Emmet Doyle.