The Huntsman (4 page)
Authors: Rafael
She
pulled the arm. It felt like bolted rivets attached it. Miranda pulled harder.
Revulsion churned her stomach as the body moved away from the wall but the face
remained planted. She tried to squeeze the screwdriver between the substance
and the skin. Her eyes widened. The material had embedded threads into the
skin. Miranda wondered if perhaps once set, the substance lost its ability to
adhere further. A war began between the curious scientist and the practical
woman. She wanted to feel the substance directly but also imagined having to
partially amputate a finger.
“I’m
going to need a fully-equipped laboratory to conduct a proper examination.”
“The
forensic team is making arrangements to use the ME’s facilities. They just
wanted you to see the scene firsthand. They’ll arrive in about thirty minutes
to transfer the bodies to the coroner. You’ll meet them then.”
“Good,
I’m done here. Let’s get out of these suits.”
Outside,
Miranda strode toward the street’s dead end, gazed across the harbor’s still
waters, listened to its gentle lapping against the moored boats. She closed her
eyes, turned her face upwards. The sun’s warmth cleansed and healed, let her
feel whole again. Ben came up alongside. “Any thoughts on what’s behind this?”
She
quieted the resentment against reality’s intrusion. Face upward, her eyes
remained closed. Seconds passed. A calm, soothing voice reemerged. “I’m
honestly baffled by this case. On its face, we’re dealing with a maniacal
serial killer but that glue-like material throws everything into doubt. A
person with the intelligence and background to create a new substance with
unique biological properties is not beyond imagination. How he gave it a
genetic signature that violates everything we know about DNA, is.”
“You
presume it’s a he?”
“A
female is unlikely. She would need to have the strength to lift two men onto a
wall, not to mention be able to tear off arms. Even for a man, that’s a
prodigious feat.”
Ben’s
communicator chimed. “Oh no. We’re going to have to postpone our dinner date.”
Wolford’s presumption opened Miranda’s eyes. She turned to look at him. If he
feigned disappointment, his expression didn’t show it. “Dawkins and Cross want
you on the first flight back to Washington. The three of you have a meeting
with the National Science Foundation tomorrow morning.”
Miranda
fought hard not to admit jealousy fed her resentment. Dr. Sara Bell, who sat at
the conference table’s head, had just begun her briefing. God, she thought,
even her voice is beautiful. The head of the National Science Foundation’s
Grants Department spoke without notes, while Miranda kept her eyes riveted to
the report she leafed through.
Life
among the animals kept her a world apart from east coast fashion. Chic had long
since passed from her clothing lexicon, replaced by practical and durable.
Whatever style she’d brought to college ended once male reaction to her makeup
and dress proved an unwanted distraction. By the time she began her doctoral
studies, trendy threads became a roadside heap run over by a desire for others
to view her as a serious zoologist.
But
when she deplaned and entered the terminal, her subconscious roared to life. It
took note of the Washington elite whose fashion sense oozed power and
confidence. The butterfly long cocooned no longer tolerated confinement.
Miranda rushed into a washroom and stood before a mirror. She stared long
enough a patron freshening her makeup glanced over.
“You
okay?”
“Yeah.
Just wondering when I became a synonym for drab.”
“Aw,
honey. Don’t worry about it. Professional is the new pretty.” Crushed, Miranda
only managed a weak smile. She rejected anyone’s attempt to judge her on a
“pretty” scale and yet deep down relished every opportunity to be pretty.
Another
weak smile formed when Dawkins introduced her to the glamorous Sara Bell.
Though warm and welcoming, Miranda caught the nanosecond up and down scan—as if
a scarecrow in a burlap bag had just entered. She felt her cheeks redden. Miranda
wanted to trip her.
“I’m
sorry, Dr. Bell. Could you put that in simpler terms?” Miranda glanced to her
left. Dawkins must have had a previous encounter with the Grants Director. She
hadn’t arrived disarmed.
“Of
course, Agent Dawkins. The law requires us to make detailed reviews of the
research grants, i.e. taxpayer dollars, we allot to qualified individuals or
institutions. Our analysis of the invoices Professor Joshua Ang submitted
indicated he had purchased some rather exotic and expensive equipment. It is
not rare for an individual to apply for a grant in one area and perform the
actual research in one of personal interest. Our grant control department
ordered an on-site inspection. When the auditors arrived, they discovered the
grisly scene. Under the circumstances, we thought it best to immediately
contact your offices.”
“Excuse
me, Dr. Bell.” Miranda leaned over to whisper in Dawkins’ ear. “Have you
briefed her on the details of Professor Ang’s death?” Dawkins nodded.
“Because
of her work, she has a Top Secret clearance.”
“Dr.
Bell.”, Miranda asked, “Have you formed any opinions regarding who might have
killed Professor Ang?” Sara gave a slight bow.
“Dr.
Logan. Let me say how thrilled the staff and I are to have the country’s
preeminent zoologist visit us. Our zoology section would kill me if I didn’t
press upon you how honored they’d be if you could drop by.” Miranda softened at
the genuine sincerity.
“Of
course, Dr. Bell. The honor would be mine.” Sara turned serious.
“I
and three of our medical personnel were present at the autopsy. The coroner
concluded the shocking mutilations occurred post mortem. We’re stumped however,
for a theory that explains all the facts. Particularly baffling is the DNA
report. Your presence however, implies an animal might be involved.” Miranda
shrugged.
“I
view it more as eliminating the possibility an animal is involved and have
drawn no firm conclusions. You are quite right about the DNA analysis. It has
me stumped too.” Agent Cross broke in.
“Well
then, Dr. Bell, if you have nothing further we won’t impose anymore than we
have on your busy schedule. I trust if there are any further developments
you’ll inform us.”
“I
will certainly do that. Dr. Logan? May I escort you to our zoology department?”
Back
inside the hotel, Miranda flopped into an oversized chair. Plush, cloud-like
softness enveloped her. She kicked off her shoes and sprawled. A glance at her
communicator indicated Greg had left a message. She sighed. He’d been a factor
in her makeup bag’s retirement. “I like natural women.” he declared early on.
She had wanted to accommodate him but should have resisted. Despite his good
looks, wit, and charm, Greg just didn’t raise her woman. In a confrontation
with a mugger, she’d be the likely defender.
Her
eyes grew heavy-lidded. Hold on she pleaded and pressed her communicator’s “2”
button.
“Say
‘hello’, Miranda.”
“Hello,
Professor.”
“How
are you? You sound tired. Like someone drained your life force.”
“I’m
okay. Sometimes a woman yearns for the little girl that preceded her. Or maybe
it’s time lag. In the past forty-eight hours I’ve flown from Ohio to California
to Hawaii to Washington. The half-hour orbitals are fine but they’ve wreaked
havoc with my internal clock. Did you receive the feather, video and additional
reports I sent? Did you have a chance to go over them?”
“Yes
to all.”
“Let
me update you on everything that’s happened since our last conversation.” When
she finished the link remained silent except for his drumming fingers.
“This
is a baffling situation with two certainties from which you must proceed. One.
The DNA report must be correct. Perhaps someone has created a genetically
engineered monstrosity. Two. So far three people are dead. I suspect there’ll
be more. Since you don’t have a security clearance and are not CIA, the agency
may not be entirely forthcoming. Neither are the killer’s motives and methods
clear. Given the unknowns, your safety is paramount. You need help and
protection. There is someone in India who can provide both. He attended three
of my classes last year. Go meet him and ask for his help. His name is Janesh
McKenzie. He may be a little difficult to locate but I’ll send you his last
address. He’ll be your life insurance.”
“What
does he do?”
“He’s
a hunter.”
Miranda looked up from the communicator’s display. She opened her
mouth to speak but closed it and shook her head. A week ago she had landed in
New Delhi then boarded a train to Chandrapur. The nineteen-hour ride provided
time to take in the unfamiliar sights, sounds, aromas, customs, behaviors and
people of a culture dating from antiquity. Many interactions had taken place
via facial expressions and hand gestures but the prevalence of English on the
former British subcontinent insured uncertainty remained short. Now she bumped
along a narrow trail marked by two parallel tire tracks and bordered by a thick
green forest where everything deeper than three yards disappeared. Twenty-five
miles east of Chandrapur, in the Tadoba Andhari Tiger Reserve, the New World
had become a distant memory.
“Do you think there are any tigers nearby, Narsimha?” He laughed.
“No, not here, Kumārī Logan. We’re just entering the
reserve. Farther in though, I would not let you step out the vehicle alone.”
The second-year engineering student from the local Sri Sai Polytechnic College
and native Chandrapurian had proved a godsend since meeting her at the rail
depot. She could not imagine how without his detailed knowledge of the
surrounding region and perfect command of Hindi and English coupled to a
ferocious intellect, she could have tracked down Janesh McKenzie. Narsimha had
done so with such aplomb it made her at first suspicious of his true vocation.
Cross and Dawkins had raised no objection to her India detour.
They had accepted at face value her desire to collaborate with a trained field
biologist. She’d made no mention of Professor Akiyama or their conversation,
preferring to play her cards close. Halfway through the flight, Cross had
uploaded Narsimha’s name. Despite that, Miranda had come to accept Narsimha as
just an independent tour guide working summer break.
He’d introduced her to his extended middle class family’s fifty
some odd members. With great warmth and hospitality they’d treated her like a
visiting emissary. Three homes had prepared great feasts where curious
neighbors waited patiently outside to glimpse the rarity a red-haired American
presented. Every time she answered Janesh McKenzie to the question why she’d
come to Chandrapur, oohs and aahs accompanied raised eyebrows. Though all knew
of the Mahān Śikārī
—the Great Huntsman—
none, including Narsimha, had ever met or seen him.
Miranda returned her attention to the dossier her communicator
displayed. The skimpy details confirmed McKenzie had given the CIA no reason to
have more. His Scottish father, a Charge d’affaires serving her Majesty’s
Diplomatic Service, fell in love and married a local Brahmin who gave him a
son, Janesh. The parents, now retired pensioners in Mumbai, led quiet,
unremarkable lives.
A student ID and passport photo, grainy through transmission,
showed a somber, pleasant-looking man with thick, straight black hair parted
right-to-left. An impressive academic record ranked him in the top five at
every phase. But curiously, with Biology a career field that mandated doctoral
degrees for serious advancement, he’d left graduate school before completing
his first year. A moment later the reason scrolled up.
A routine police patrol along London’s Pimlico Road captured a man
climbing out of a second-story window shortly after 7am on a Sunday morning and
returned him to the apartment in handcuffs. The Cambridge Vice-Chancellor,
who’d returned unexpectedly from an overseas conference, wished only to avoid
scandal and embarrassment. Three days later though, the then twenty-two year
old Janesh McKenzie departed school and London for India. The skimpy dossier
contained no evidence he’d pursued his education anywhere else. Only the three
anatomy and evolution courses he’d taken under Professor Akiyama as a non-degreed
registrant filled the intervening fifteen years. At the document’s end someone
had inserted the Hindi translation for Janesh
—Lord of Men.
The gloomy forest gave way to a light-filled, airy clearing. A
hundred yards away, three official ATV’s stood grouped alongside park rangers
chatting and smoking. Closer to the forest’s edge, a shirtless man with his
back turned rummaged inside a civilian ATV, its rear door high in the air.
Narsimha slowed to a stop. “We’re looking for Janesh McKenzie.”
The seven men paused their smoking to eye Narsimha then lingered a bit longer
on Miranda before nodding toward the man. She did not hurry to cross the short
distance. No longer shaded by the forest canopy, dried grass underfoot radiated
the sun’s heat.
Two huge dogs sat on either side of the vehicle, their fixed gazes
evidenced instinctive distance calculations. Her eyes widened as she neared.
Seven slash marks glared white against the man’s dark skin. Four formed
horizontal traces across his spine. Three lined diagonally from his right
shoulder to the waist. Though other possibilities existed, claw marks came to
mind.
“Excuse me. Are you Janesh McKenzie?”
“Perhaps.” He continued moving, opening, and examining bags.
Miranda waited. The sun grew hotter. She gave up.
“These are beautiful dogs. Are they yours?”
“They accompany me.” Her zoologist side admired the distinction.
“My name is Miranda Logan. I am in charge of animal care for
Ohio’s Columbus Zoological Park.”
Miranda felt as if he’d delegated ten percent of his brain to the
conversation, the other ninety focused on whatever held his attention.
“Professor Gary Akiyama sent me. I need his help. If you are not he, I’d just
as soon be on my way.”
The man straightened and turned around. Miranda stifled a gasp.
The grainy photos had not prepared her for his reality. From a height she
estimated at just over six feet, two clear, light-brown, tawny eyes sat above a
straight nose and full lips. Strong jaws flexed muscles at the hinges. A strand
of glossy, jet-black hair creased his forehead. His body bore no resemblance to
an unnatural gym-produced muscularity, but one hardened by rigorous outdoor
activity. A flat, toned stomach ended just above low-slung beltless pants that
somehow managed to remain modest. He projected an aura not of strength but
power. A sardonic grin spread to reveal bright, strong teeth. “I am Janesh
McKenzie. If Professor Akiyama sent you, consider me at your service.”
Miranda concentrated to regain focus. Somehow her pursuit and the
world that produced it had shrunk in his presence. Worse, she stood in a
primeval forest halfway across the world about to raise absurdity to new
heights. “I am in pursuit of someone that has brutally killed three men. He may
be using some type of creature. Professor Akiyama believes you can help me.”
“Creature? What kind of creature?” Miranda shifted her weight and
tried not to sound sheepish.
“We can’t identify it.”
Janesh stared at her. His expression remained blank. A zoologist
and an evolutionary biologist had encountered a creature they could not
identify. Something didn’t add up. “I see.” He turned around and continued
inspecting bags and equipment.
“I have a doctorate in zoology, Mr. McKenzie. I really am
stumped.”
“Relax, Dr. Logan. If anyone other than Professor Akiyama had sent
you, this conversation would be over.” The heat and the man’s taciturn nature
weakened her impulse control.
“If anyone other than Professor Akiyama had sent me, I wouldn’t
have come.”
A spear emerged from the vehicle interior. He leaned it against
the door. Miranda stared. Besides movies and books she had no experience with
spears. Its thick, rugged, wood shaft appeared well-worn and used. Two darker
rings indicated hand placement. In the modern world, why would a spear appear
well-worn and used? A steel ten-inch double-sided blade did not shine or gleam.
And yet she could feel its ability to slice and penetrate. Its silent, inert
stance left no doubt of its purpose. She viewed a death instrument.
Without warning his pants dropped to the ground. A firm, round
rump emerged. Gluteal muscles that powered his stride bulged and flexed as he
stepped out then bent to lift them. Miranda tried to avert her eyes. Heat that
had nothing to do with the sun surged through her groin and reddened her
cheeks. The reaction surprised her. Lost for what else to do, she extended a
hand toward a dog. A growl rumbled from its chest.
“Careful. I can rely on their discipline. You should not.” Miranda
kept her hand steady. The dog sniffed then took a tentative lick. It took
another than leaned forward. Its partner, who had a scar that ran from its head
to its nose, looked on with indifference. Miranda scratched its ears. Janesh
stopped long enough to turn his head. “Impressive. They’re good judges of
character. I commend you.”
The breeze shifted wafting an overpowering stench that wrinkled
her nose. “Where is that smell coming from?” Janesh pointed toward the
vehicle’s front. An audible gasp escaped her throat loud enough to carry toward
the rangers who turned their heads. Both hands rushed to her mouth. A young
girl, perhaps twenty or twenty-two lay on the ground, ripped and torn clothing
scattered about. Ravenous flies swarmed her eyes. A leg, less its thigh,
sprawled two feet away. She had no midsection. An exposed spine connected her
to the other leg. A churning stomach threatened to empty its contents before
she rushed away.
Miranda struggled to breathe. “You could have warned me.” she
shouted. Janesh stepped away from the vehicle. Naked except for a loincloth, a
foot-long blade hung from his waist. He’d slung a small pouch’s thin leather
strap across his chest.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Logan. I thought, given your background, you knew
that smell. Especially when you asked me where it was not what it was. Are you
alright?” Bent over, Miranda waved away his apology and nodded. Her breathing
regained some normalcy.
“What, what happened?”
“Their trail indicated a tiger ambushed five people just within
the tree line. Poachers most likely. Four fled for their lives. The girl didn’t
make it. You’d be wise to return to your vehicle. Tigers don’t stray far from
their kills and she is not his first. I’ve been tracking its spoor for some
time now.”
Miranda straightened and fixed incredulous eyes on Janesh’s
appearance. “What are you doing, where are you going?”
“I must stop this tiger before it kills again.” Miranda searched
for a weapon, looked about for a gun or rifle. Her gaze fell on the well-worn
spear shaft. Her voice rose two octaves.
“You’re going to hunt a tiger with a spear? Are you insane? A
tiger weighs upwards of six hundred pounds. A one-ton bovid is fair game. It
can crush your skull with a swipe of its paw.” She gave a short laugh and
derisive snort. “You look pretty strong but I assure you you’re not in a
tiger’s league. Not even close.”
“This is not the West, Dr. Logan. Here things are…different.” She
gave another short laugh.
“Yeah, but not the tiger.”
With a shrug Janesh turned again to the ATV, retrieved a bottle,
opened its top, placed a rag against its mouth and overturned it twice. He
wrapped the rag around one dog’s collar then repeated the process for the
other. The dogs grew visibly excited. A strong scent filled the air.
“What is that?”
“Sambar deer musk. Bengal tigers can imitate the rutting call of a
male. This one does a good impersonation but I can tell the difference.”
Miranda’s shocked voice almost squeaked.
“You’re going to expose the dogs to a tiger? These are Rhodesian
Ridgebacks. I’m sure you know they hunt lions not tigers.” Janesh straightened
from his task. Feigned annoyance peeked through an impassive face.
“Thanks a lot, Dr. Logan. I had them convinced we were in Africa.”
Miranda made to respond but stopped. Understanding dawned. The dead woman had
caused an emotional spike that clouded her reasoning. The claw marks. Of
course. Her eyes narrowed. She tried to imagine the unimaginable.
“How many tigers have you killed?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. The tiger acted out of instinct not malice. I am sympathetic
to that poor woman but the tiger should not pay the price for their actions.
They were poachers. They shouldn’t have been here. Had those rangers caught
them, they would have shot them on sight. Besides, you’re Hindu. Aren’t you
supposed to respect all life?”
Janesh stopped and for the first time focused his full attention
on Miranda. For an instant she felt like a cobra’s cornered prey. With a
gentle sigh, he assumed the role of patient instructor. “Examining a single
letter, Dr. Logan, grants no knowledge of its alphabet. And an alphabet has no
meaning even when they form words. Not until one steps back to read sentences
and paragraphs can understanding begin.
The principle of ahimsa
—non-violence—can be taken to extremes
and prohibit killing a worm or an ant. Mahatma Gandhi, its most famous
advocate, extended it even to plants. But ahimsa is folded within the greater
principle of Dharma that guides the ethical and moral behavior of all. Dharma
is all-encompassing to include the Earth, the ocean, the moon, the stars, and
the sun. The only English word which can approximate it is righteousness. It is
the essence of the universe and the spirit of the soul. To be righteous, Dharma
demands that we act appropriately. But what is appropriate for a Brahmin, a
priest, may not be appropriate for a Kshatriya, a warrior. What is appropriate
for a zoologist may not be appropriate for a hunter. Dharma guides the general
and flexes for the particular.
