Chimera (39 page)

“Yes, exactly,” Fogarty nodded feverishly, and then winced again from the pain he seemed to be causing his shoulder.
 
“But it’s still a perfectly legal hunt, right?
 
I mean it’s not illegal to kill a mammoth, is it?”

“Beats the shit out of me,” Bulatt admitted.
 
“But you’re sure this Marcus character will be there during the hunt?”

“Oh yes, no doubt about that,” Fogarty said.

“But you don’t know where it’s going to be held?”

“All we know is that we’re all supposed to fly to Cle Elum Municipal Airport tomorrow morning with all of our gear — nine o’clock arrival time — and they were going to meet us there and take us out to the hunt location in a helicopter.

“Cle Elum?
 
You mean that little town northeast of Mount Rainier?”

“Yes, that’s it.
 
But I gather the on-going snowstorm up there that has made the airport inaccessible for our planes, so we’re supposed to fly to McAllister Field in Yakima, Washington, instead.
 
After we land, we’ll be taken to the hunt site by helicopter; apparently making it a ninety-mile trip instead of fifty.”

Bulatt looked up and saw Mike Takahara standing in the doorway.
 
“You hear that?” he asked.

Takahara nodded.
 
“Sounds like they’re going to be somewhere due north of Cle Elum; probably up in the middle of the Wenatchee National Forest.
 
Some seriously rough country up in that area; high mountains, dense forest areas, and very few access roads.
 
Bad place to get caught in a snow storm, especially if the temperature starts dropping like it is right now.”

“In other words, a perfect place to hold an old-fashioned mammoth hunt?”

“Especially if you want to shift the odds in favor of the mammoths,” Takahara said, nodding.

“According to Hateley, who was relaying instructions from Marcus, we’re supposed to dress for very cold conditions, and expect an added wind-chill factor; but not to worry about food and shelter because that will be provided,” Fogarty said.
 
“Apparently, the snow is still coming down intermittently; but it shouldn’t impact our planes landing at Yakima, or our helicopter ride to the site.
 
If anything, Marcus expects the storm to conceal our hunt from hikers or low-flying planes, and to force the animals into protected areas where they’ll be easier to hunt.”

“Have any of your CEO friends ever met Carolyn, face to face?”

“No.”
 
Fogarty shook his head.
 
“They’ve see pictures of her when she was … younger, but nothing recent.”

“Who’s going to meet you at Yakima?”

“I don’t know; probably Quince or Jake, one of the two.”

“Not Marcus?”

“No, I’m sure not; Marcus is never there when we arrive.
 
He only shows up when the hunt actually begins.”

“Shit,” Bulatt muttered.

“Is something wrong?”
 
A look of panic flashed across Fogarty’s face.

Bulatt looked up, and saw Stoner hovering in the doorway, picked up and shut off the tape recorder, and then stood up out of the chair.
 
“You stay here, sport,” he said to Fogarty, gesturing with his head at the doorway, “I’ll right back.”

*
   
*
   
*

“You’re out of your mind,” Lightstone said flatly.

Bulatt and Achara were in the trophy room with Lightstone and Takahara, arguing back and forth.
 
They’d been at it for almost five minutes.

“We
can
do it,” Achara insisted.
 
“I’m telling you, we can.”

“I was referring to you, not Ged,” Lightstone said, glaring at Achara.
 
“We already know he’s a nut case; but we thought you might have a little more common sense.”

“You just don’t think I can do it because I’m a woman!
 
Go ahead, admit it!” Achara glared back at Lightstone.

“I tend to agree with Henry,” Bulatt said, ignoring Achara’s angry accusations.
 
“But, the thing is, I just don’t know how else we can play it.
 
According to Fogarty, this guy Emerson — presumably the main perpetrator we’re after — doesn’t show until everything’s in motion.
 
Probably hangs out on the perimeter monitoring the environment.
 
We’ve got to get him engaged in the hunt before you guys show up; or he’ll rabbit on us and go to ground, and then we’ll never find him.”

“It really is a woman thing, isn’t it?” Achara demanded, refusing to back down.

“If you two go in there cold like that, you’re going to get yourselves killed,” Lightstone said to Bulatt.
 
“They’re not going to believe she’s Fogarty’s daughter, and when the shit hits the fan, there’s no way we’ll be able to get there in time to back you up; assuming we can even find you in the first place.
 
The Wenatchee National Forest is a hell of a place to be looking for two people on the run in the middle of a snow storm.
 
And don’t forget, we’re talking at least one expert long-range shooter here.
 
You won’t even know you’re in the cross-hairs until your head suddenly explodes.”

“Thanks for the cheerful image; I’ll try to remember to keep my head down,” Bulatt said sarcastically.

“I can rig you up with an emergency GPS satellite transmitter that you can activate to call for help,” Takahara said, “but if this Quince character is up on his technology, which he probably is, he’ll be scanning for active transmitters.
 
Once you turn it on, the game’s going to be up.
 
They can use the signal to find you just as easily as we can, and they’ll have a big head start.”

“Why won’t they believe I’m his daughter?
 
Did you see what she looks like?
 
She’s got to be at least half Thai.
 
Do you really think these goons can tell the difference?” Achara demanded.

Lightstone sighed and turned back to Achara.
 
“You do look the part, I’ll concede that; but have you ever shot an arrow from a bow before?” he asked calmly.

“No, I haven’t.
 
What difference does that make?”

“The difference is that Fogarty’s daughter is widely-known in the Northwest to be skilled with a bow; and it’s not going to take those assholes very long to figure out that you —” Lightstone stared to add, and then stopped when Achara whirled away, stomped over to the corner of the trophy room, picked up Sam Fogarty’s spear, and sent it flying across the room.
 
The long obsidian spear-point slammed solidly into a mounted bull African elephant head staring out mournfully from the far wall.

All three special agents stared wordlessly at the six-foot spear shaft vibrating almost exactly mid-distance between elephant’s glassy eyes.

“Who says I have to use a goddamned bow and arrow?” Achara demanded.
 
“Is that some kind of sexist thing?
 
I can’t hunt with a spear like the guys?”

“Could you do that?” Bulatt asked Lightstone.

“No, not likely,” he admitted.
 
“I’m not even sure I could come close to the center of the wall, much less the frigging elephant.”

“Me neither,” Bulatt said.
 
“And I’m starting to think we might be able to pull it off; especially if Mike can rig us a couple of emergency beacons that they can’t spot until we turn them on.”

“No problem with the transmitter,” Takahara said, “but we’re going to have to hustle to get you two outfitted with some cold-weather gear and camping equipment — and then out to McAllister Field — by nine tomorrow morning.”

“Can you do it?”

Takahara nodded.
 
“There’s a U.S. Military Training Center just outside of Yakima.
 
They ought to have plenty of cold weather gear on hand.
 
I’ll give them a call; see what we can work out.”
 
The Tech Agent hurried out of the room.

“Her father is going to be seriously pissed at both of us if she gets hurt,” Lightstone reminded.
 
“We won’t even discuss the ‘if she gets killed’ part.
 
If that happens, he’ll hunt us both down to the ends of the earth.”

“My father is an understanding man, and he knows me well,” Achara said as she walked over to the elephant head, yanked the spear out, and then walked back to the two special agents with a look of defiant determination on her face.
 
“And I’ll tell you one thing for certain: he does not expect me to be a coward in the face of our enemies.”

 
Bulatt met her gaze for a long moment, sighed, and then walked back into the living room where Stoner was gazing thoughtfully down at the cowered Fogarty.

“Okay, sport,” Bulatt said, staring solemnly at Fogarty as he sat back down in the chair, “here’s how you’re going to play it.”

CHAPTER 35

Sam Fogarty’s Living Room

“Listen to me, Michael, I know what you’re thinking,” Sam Fogarty snarled into the phone.
 
“If I can’t hunt, that just means one more for the taking; but you three are not going to cheat me out of my mammoth!
 
That is not going to happen!”

There were in Fogarty’s expensively furnished living room; Bulatt, Lightstone, Stoner and Takahara sitting in chairs facing Fogarty on the couch as the sweating CEO made his pitch to the acknowledged leader of their private hunting club.
 
Achara was back in the den, sending Carolyn Fogarty’s homemade arrows across the room into the wall-mounted target with varying results, and what the agents all assumed was colorful Thai cussing.
 
There were now several arrowhead holes in the surrounding rosewood paneling that had been smuggled into the country from one of the last such trees clear-cut from a Brazilian Rainforest.

Fogarty winced visibly as another loud ‘THUNK’ and muttered curse signaled the latest damage to his likely irreplaceable paneling, and then listened for a few seconds to the voice on the other end of the line.

“I know what we all agreed to eight years ago,” Fogarty interrupted.
 
“But this is a different situation entirely.
 
There will never be another ‘first hunt of extinct species’ like this again, no matter what kind of creatures these scientists manage to come up with next, and I will not simply ‘sit this one out’ because of an untimely accident.”

Fogarty listened again for a few more seconds.

“That’s not true at all.
 
I’m sure Carolyn is perfectly capable of keeping up with the two of you.
 
In fact, if anything, I expect her to be way out ahead.
 
After all, she’s thirty years younger than any of us, and works out regularly.
 
With any luck, she’ll be the one who makes the first kill.”

Another pause.

“I’m going to send her with the spears, of course; and also that bow I told you all about — the one she hand-carved with that obsidian knife, and then hand-chipped the arrowheads.
 
What?
 
How the hell do I know if the cavemen hunted mammoths with bows and arrows?
 
For all I know, they launched boulders at the damned things with catapults.
 
Who cares?
 
The only things that matter, as far as I’m concerned, are that she makes the kill without using a modern firearm; and that she brings home my mammoth, so I can put it on my wall.”

Fogarty then looked up at Bulatt as he listened to Hateley’s response.

“No, I can’t come with her; I’ve got surgery scheduled for tomorrow, and I have no intention of being crippled for life because I put it off,” Fogarty said.
 
“But I will see to it that she arrives at the airport tomorrow, well before ten, with her fiancé —”

Fogarty hesitated.
 
“His name is Gediminas Bulattus, a Lithuanian-American, nice fellow; and yes, of course he’s going with her!
 
What did you think — that I was going to send my only daughter out in the wilderness on her own, knowing that Stuart would be there?
 
Be serious!
 
Ged will see to it that she’s safe, and that she brings my trophy back to where it belongs.
 
And then, at our next get-together, we will see who takes possession of the boar’s head!”

With that, Fogarty disconnected the call.

“It’s done,” he said, still staring at Bulatt.

“Did he agree?”

“He was reluctant, as you heard; but the four of us have already made substantial — and non-refundable — down payments for this hunt,
 
and he agrees that I have a right to protect my investment.”

“Substantial meaning?”

“A half-million dollars apiece, with another one-point-five million payable when our trophies are delivered to our doors.”

Bulatt blinked.
 
“Two million dollars each, for what amounts to a baby elephant hunt?
 
Are you people out of your collective minds?”

“At some point in the accumulation of wealth, Agent Bulatt, dollars become little more than illusionary numbers in a ledger; things that you use but don’t really much care about,” Fogarty explained. “Those young mammoths, however, are very real and very rare — to put it mildly — and I want one.
 
It’s all a matter of what you value most in life.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” Bulatt said.
 
“What about Emerson?
 
How is he likely to take this switch at the last minute?”

“Marcus strikes all of us as being a simple mercenary.
 
I’m sure he won’t care who actually takes part in the hunt, just as long as he gets paid,” Fogarty said.
 
“But what about Carolyn and I?
 
How will you see to it that we have protection — from prosecution, and from Marcus and his men?”