DR. CATALYST WAS OVERJOYED. IF ANYTHING, THE resulting firestorm from the video he released overwhelmed even his earlier “media outreach” with the Pterogators. It was almost certainly a result of the attack on the Stukaczowski boy. (He had learned the name from the media reports.) Once again Emmet and Calvin had intervened, preventing his Muraecudas from killing the lad. Were they not thwarting him at every turn, he would admire their ingenuity. Their quick thinking had saved their friend from a more serious injury or even death.

Today he had emailed his South Florida Ecosystem Recovery Manifesto to every news outlet and environmental organization in the entire state of Florida. The response had been almost exactly as he expected. First, the local law enforcement agencies had formed a task force. They assumed he was using the Everglades as his base again.

But he crossed them up this time. Among his demands, he insisted hundreds of miles of coastline be shut down to public use, as well as the entire Everglades National Park. This would strain their resources. Additional rangers and other law-enforcement personnel would be gearing up to find him. Dr. Catalyst was presumed dead based on the blood evidence from his airboat recovered in their previous encounter, so at this point they were operating on the assumption that Dr. Catalyst had an accomplice in his hybridization efforts or that this new creature was the result of a copycat.

It made Dr. Catalyst laugh. As if any copycat could possibly hope to accomplish what he had done scientifically. A handful of others in the world might have the intellect or the resources, but they lacked the will.

It had taken so little effort to fool the idiots trying to catch him. Keeping a few pints of his own blood available was part of his standard contingency operation. Before he abandoned the boat, he spread it around the wreck to throw off the authorities. Apparently it had worked. Let them think there was another Dr. Catalyst at work. It gave him an advantage. This time he was hidden somewhere they would never look.

After losing his compound in the Everglades, he’d upgraded all of his data feeds. He now stored his information on computer servers at an offshore company that maintained the equipment and asked no questions as long as they received payment. It allowed him to use his tablet computer to keep track of all of his facilities and experiments. All of his labs were wired with motion-sensor cameras. If anyone showed up, he’d get a notification sent to his tablet and phone and see it right away.

With his fingers flying over his tablet, he checked on the tank holding a new batch of Muraecuda hatchlings. They were progressing rapidly and would be ready to release soon. All was going according to plan.

He punched another icon on the tablet and the screen split into several smaller screens showing the media broadcasts surrounding the environmental “crisis” he had created. Some stations where showing the video. Others were having roundtable discussions with so-called experts discussing what should be done to address the “Dr. Catalyst Problem.”

Dr. Catalyst wasn’t sure what triggered the thought. Perhaps it came from his plans to release his next batch of hybrids. Or it could have been from listening to the politicians, environmentalists, and other windbags trying to figure out what he was doing or if he was even real.

He was real all right. And things were about to become even more interesting for those who opposed him. Dr. Catalyst was going to make things very real.

He was going to start a movement.