Chimera (41 page)

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he said, holding up the fifth map.
 
“The hunt will take place in this six-hundred-acre canyon enclosure up in the Wenatchee National Forest area of the Cascades north of Mount Stuart; elevation about six thousand feet.
 
I call it a canyon, but it’s more like a wide and shallow granite bowl filled with a lot of big boulders, fir and pine trees, and surrounded on all sides by rocky crags and cliffs.
 
The locals call it “the Maze.”
 
The only easy access route in winter is from the southwest.
 
That’s where your four targets were released, a couple of days ago, along with a three-day supply of food.”

Lanyard looked around to confirm that everyone was paying attention.

“In the last forty-eight hours,” he went on, “we’ve used the chopper here to establish four large bait piles — mostly hay and fruit — at these four locations, each of which is at least five hundred yards from the entrance to the bowl.”
 
Lanyard pointed at four bright green ‘X’s that formed a wide arc running from west to east across the canyon enclosure.
 
“Also, we made sure that each of the bait piles is no more than a hundred yards from a small cave where we’ve stockpiled a two-week supply of food, water, fuel, and a miscellaneous stock of cooking and survival equipment.
 
The caves are the blue ‘X’s.”

“What’s this yellow ‘X’?” Kingman asked.

“That’s a low area at the southwest corner of the bowl where we’ve established a base camp with additional supplies, a landing zone for the chopper, and a sniper post where we can keep a long-distance eye on all four caves and bait piles.” Lanyard said.
 
“The entire Maze slopes uphill from that point.
 
Posting ourselves there also allows us to monitor the entrance to the bowl, to make sure none of the target animals tries to escape.”

“Do you think they will try?” Caldreaux asked.

“I would think they’d want to remain by a known food source, especially during a storm,” Lanyard replied.
 
“But, the truth is, we have no idea how these creatures will react once we begin the hunt; which is why we intend to be out in the field, as much as possible, where we can monitor the situation.
 
The original plan was to have Marcus, Jack or I maintain a rotating watch at the sniper post, while the other two roamed the field.
 
But with Gunny Sergeant Bulattus and his M14 now available for emergency situations in the hunt zone, I think Marcus will want to keep one of us back at base camp on stand-by with the chopper crew to respond by air if something does go wrong.”

“So who gets which bait pile?” Hateley asked.

“That’s up to you four,” Lanyard said.
 
“Not sure that it matters much.
 
All four piles are well separated and close to forested areas where we assume the targets are hiding.
 
The furthest one out from our base camp — number two — might get a little more attention from the wary feeders; but there’s also the issue of dragging your kill further out to an open area where the chopper can make a pick-up.
 
Getting to any of the sites won’t be a problem; we’ll be using the chopper to drop you and your equipment off as close to your selected caves as possible.”

Achara looked at Bulatt who nodded agreeably.

“If none of you gentlemen object, I’d like to take the number-two position,” Achara said.
 
“I consider myself aerobically fit, so the extra distances won’t be a problem; I think the wariest animal is likely to be the greatest challenge, and perhaps the biggest trophy; and I also have someone to help with the dragging.”

“Miss Fogarty, you do lay down a heavy gauntlet,” Caldreaux said with a smile.
 
“Being somewhat less aerobically conditioned, I would like to opt for the number-three position.
 
It looks much closer to the base camp than the others, and I believe I see an open area for the helicopter right next to the bait pile.”

Hateley and Kingman shrugged agreeably, then looked at each other.
 
“I don’t much care,” Kingman said with a shrug, “four’s fine with me.”

“Thus leaving me with the number-one position, the sound of which I find very appealing,” Hateley said.

“I don’t see a scale on this map,” Bulatt said.
 
“What’s the distance from our bait pile to the sniper post?”

“Approximately a thousand yards,” Lanyard replied.

“And you’re planning on keeping a protective eye on us at that distance with a rifle, and in this weather?”
 
Bulatt cocked his head skeptically.

“As it happens, we’ve got two rather nice U.S. Marine Corps rifles positioned in the sniper post,” Lanyard replied.
 
“A standard M40A1, and a M107 adapted to a computer-controlled platform mount; both equipped with state-of-the-art daylight and night-vision scopes.
 
As you might imagine, on this particular hunt, distance won’t be so much a factor as visibility.”

“What’s a M107?” Caldreaux asked Bulatt, looking puzzled.

“A fifty-caliber military sniper rifle that’s accurate and lethal out to a couple thousand yards,” Bulatt answered, “but only if you can see your target in the scope.”

“And with the snow falling as it is now, it’s doubtful that we’ll be able to see much beyond a hundred yards,” Lanyard said, “which may turn out to be a very relevant safety issue, indeed, because of the new problem we haven’t discussed yet.”

“A new problem?” Hateley asked.

“More of a complication, I think, than an actual problem; but it may be a significant one.
 
When the people in charge of the release baited the mammoths out to the Maze, they didn’t separate them from their mothers first.”

“The host mothers are out there, with the young mammoths?” Achara blinked, looking shocked.

“Yes.”
 
Lanyard nodded.
 
“We only learned about this situation yesterday.
 
Had we know earlier, we would have certainly told you, and made alternate arrangements for the hunt.”

“But how dangerous are the females likely to be?” Hateley asked.
 
“I mean, we’re not talking about a bull elephant running amok in the hunting area.
 
Aren’t the females considerably smaller than the males?”

“Considerably smaller, and much less aggressive,” Lanyard said, nodding, “but they are protective of their young, none-the-less, and perfectly capable of stomping a human flat.
 
As such, all of you are going to have to be a bit more cautious — and perhaps even a little inventive — in your approaches than we had originally planned.
 
For this reason, we’re suggesting that you might give some consideration to hunting in pairs, or perhaps even as a foursome.”

“I think that discussion will have to wait for day-two, or perhaps even day-three,” Hateley said.
 
“I came here to put a mammoth head on my wall, and I really don’t want to end up arguing with my associates — or Carolyn — as to who merely wounded the biggest trophy animal, and who actually made the kill.”

Caldreaux Kulawnit both nodded in agreement.

“Marcus thought you would all feel that way,” Lanyard said, “so I’m to offer you a second option that may be a bit more to your liking: the prospect of conducting your hunts at night, when the animals are naturally more active.”

“At night?!
 
Are you insane?” Caldreaux demanded.

“At night, using night vision goggles,” Lanyard corrected, “which should help you deal with the presence of the mother elephants.
 
You’ll be able to hear and see and perhaps smell them, but they’ll only be able to hear and smell you.
 
Not exactly the old-fashioned cave-man hunt we originally envisioned; but, perhaps, an appropriate balance of the old and the new.
 
And, in any case, I think you’ll find the task of taking these creatures with spears — while watching out for the protective mothers — to be sufficiently challenging to justify mounting them on your walls.”

Hateley, Caldreaux, Kingman and Achara all looked at each other and shrugged agreeably.

“And because the snow storm shows every sign of continuing, and possibly getting worse, maintaining visual contact with all of you — even with the night scopes and infrared filtered flashlights — is going to be a bit iffy at times.
 
So we’re going to modify the rules a bit more and issue the four hunters and Gunny Sergeant Bulattus with short-range walkie-talkies.
 
The functional range is roughly a mile with line-of-sight.
 
But you’re not likely to be in sight of each other, with all the rocks and outcroppings; so plan on climbing to high ground — to a point where you can see the yellow flasher of our sniper post — if you need to make an emergency call and want to be absolutely certain that we’ll hear you.”

Lanyard reached into his kit bag and handed out five of the walkie-talkies, each tape-marked with a user’s call-sign.
 
“They’re all set to channel one, and your call-signs are your cave positions: CAVE-ONE, CAVE-TWO, CAVE-THREE and CAVE-FOUR. Gunny Sergeant Bulattus will be SARGE-ONE.”

“What about your call sign?” Hateley asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” Lanyard advised.
 
“If you need help, just get on the horn and whichever one of us is within range will respond; which will certainly include Gunny Sergeant Bulattus if he’s closer and more readily available.
 
That okay with you, Sarge?”

“Roger that,” Bulatt said.

“Well, in that case,” Lanyard said, “I think we’d better finish loading up the chopper and get moving out to the base camp before the storm up there gets any worse.
 
We’ll have a few hours of daylight to make a last-minute equipment check, practice with the radios and night-vision gear, and then get you all settled into your camp sites before its time for the fun to start.”

Part IV: Chimera

CHAPTER 37

Base Camp, the Maze

Dressed in winter white-cammo-shell tunic and pants that were identical to those worn by Gedimin Bulatt and Achara Kulawnit, Marcus Wallis remained in the snow-covered trees about fifty yards from the base camp and watched — with a pair of adjustable 4x binoculars — as the modified Blackhawk helicopter landed at the make-shift helipad.

Moments later, the four familiar figures of Quince Lanyard, Michael Hateley, Max Kingman and Stuart Caldreaux climbed down out of the Blackhawk’s main cabin door, immediately followed by the unfamiliar figures of Gedimin Bulatt and Achara Kulawnit.

As Wallis continued to watch, Lanyard led his five charges down a pathway from the base camp’s heliport and sniper post to the mouth of a deep natural cavern that Wallis had selected as a place to train their clients in the use of night vision goggles.
 
He watched the group disappear into the mouth of the cavern, waited two more minutes, and then worked his way up to the sniper post.

There, he found Jack Gavin sitting on a trunk-like green aluminum rifle case underneath a tied and staked-down tarp shelter.

Gavin was working on the cabling connections between a laptop computer and a large digital telescopic sight mounted on the receiver of a thick-barreled stainless-steel rifle.
 
The rifle was clamped solidly onto a slot within a heavy platform mount, in turn, was bolted to an electronically adjustable x-y-z servo-box.
 
The thick legs of the tripod bolted to the underside of the servo-box were held solidly in place with a combination of sandbags and heavy rocks.
 
A second set of cables ran from the servo-box and the platform mount to the laptop; and a third set ran from out from the laptop in opposite directions, connecting to a pair of pole-mounted directional transceiver antennas mounted one hundred feet apart.

In effect, the software program on the laptop controlled the three-dimensional aim-point of the heavy-barreled rifle; or, at least, that was the theory.

“Got it working yet?” Wallis asked.

“Not bloody likely,” Gavin muttered.
 
“We need to get Quince back on the job.
 
He built the bugger; he should know how to fix it.”

“What’s the problem?”

“He thinks it’s one of the connecting cables; a real pisser, seeing as how all the complicated bits seem to be working spot-on.”

“Show me what’s working,” Wallis said.

“I’ll start with the signal-tracking mode.”
 
Gavin hit an Alt-F key and the laptop screen instantly shifted to a graphic overhead image of the Maze with a pulsing point in the lower left corner.
 
Gavin then zoomed-in on the lower left corner, and they both watched the pulsing point separated out into eight distinct points; six of them clumped together at a section of the graphic marked helipad.

“Those were the positions of all eight walkie-talkies ten minutes ago,” Gavin said, pointing at the screen.
 
“That’s Quince and our five clients coming off the chopper, me right here, and you out in the woods.”

As Wallis watched, six of the pulsing points — labeled on the screen in bright gold letters as ‘G2’, ‘CA’, ‘HA’, ‘KI’, ‘FO’ and ‘BU’ — moved as a group to a section of the graphic labeled ‘TEST CAVE ENTRANCE’ and then disappeared, one by one.
 
The point labeled ‘G1’ slowly approached the point labeled ‘G3’ which remained motionless.

“That’s us, now, in real time,” Gavin said as he hit another Alt-F key.
 
“As you can see, the signal-tracking part of the program is dead-on.
 
We’ll lose a signal for a moment, every now and then, when a big rock gets in the way.
 
But we’ve got a lot of relay sensors out there, and the computer always maintains the ‘last-known’ position.
 
Given all that, we’re not going to have any trouble keeping track of the players in this little game.”