David Golemon - Primeval

Sarah just patted Mendenhall on the back nodding her head.

"And don't forget about having a Frenchman along who wants to kill all of us, and then there's half the U.S. government trying to hunt us down."

"Yeah," Will said, looking off into space. "Who needs the monster in the woods? We may not even make it to where we're going."

"See, it's all in the way you prioritize things."

With maps of British Columbia and Alaska tacked to every piece of exposed wall inside of the small hotel room, Collins, Alexander, and Farbeaux compared the description of an area along the Stikine River taken from L. T. Lattimer's letter home on the back of the last page of the Petrov journal.

"I don't know Jack, how many times has the Stikine changed its course, even if only by feet after a hundred years?" Punchy asked. "I think if I returned to Ottawa, I may be able to get a better handle on this. Someone in our interior department may have something to offer.

Jack stepped back from the large map and looked at Alexander. "You know better than anyone that if we went to any branch of any government with this, not only would we be arrested, they would fill those areas with so many Mounties and bureaucratic red tape, Lynn would surely be killed."

"Damn. Sorry, Jack, maybe I need some sleep."

Jack nodded and then looked at his old friend. "We'll have time to rest on our way up to your backyard."

Farbeaux sat at the small table and sipped a large cup of coffee, grimacing at the horrible taste. He turned the pages of the Petrov journal easily, and even as he did he felt the brittleness of the paper.

"Beside the description of the overhanging bluffs and medium-size plateau our Colonel Petrov describes at his last encampment, the exactness of the area leaves much to be desired. Too much has changed."

Jack looked back and saw the Frenchman as he thumbed through the pages. "Lattimer used the journal to discover his gold deposit. Does it say anything about where that strike was made in the papers and letters?"

Farbeaux closed the old diary and then picked up the plastic-covered letter still etched on the last page of the journal. He shook his head and then handed Jack the pile. "I see no reference about his find anywhere, other than he found a wonderful strike."

Jack shook his head. He was beginning to think they would stand a better chance just making their way up to the Stikine and hoping for the best. He figured the Russians couldn't be that inconspicuous in that wilderness area. He became frustrated and slapped the page in his hand against the table, and then sat. He knew he was fooling himself: The Stikine was only the most dense and nearly unexplored region in North America. It could be like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack. In frustration, he started reading Lattimer's announcement again about his find and declaration.

"Why was a Russian colonel even in that part of the world? How could anyone get that lost, especially a trained army officer? And just who in the hell are these 'children' he keeps mentioning?" Alexander asked. "It makes me think this whole book may have been written by a madman. Or, have you even considered the fact that this whole thing is a hoax?"

"I guess we'll ask Sarah what Doc Ellenshaw has to say about it," Collins said as he rubbed his eyes.

Farbeaux was beginning to agree with the Canadian CSIS man. "I believe the man may have been a deserter from the Russian army, after all, they were going through political turmoil at the time, if I remember right it was a little thing called the Russian revolution."

"But run to Alaska, get lost, bury some wagons full of gold, then disappear."

Jack looked at Alexander and then slowly shuffled through the papers again. As he did, he finally found the notation he was looking for. He smiled and then laid the papers down.

"Son of a bitch, it was right there the whole time, and we boy geniuses missed it."

Farbeaux just raised his right eyebrow and took another sip of the bitter coffee. Punchy Alexander turned away from the large maps to look at Jack.

"What did we miss?"

"Here," Jack said as he slid the journal across the table and pointed to the second to the last page. It was notes jotted down by Lattimer. "He said he finally had his strike, hallelujah, he said it was right in front of him the whole time, under a bluff just where the diary said Petrov and his deserters made their last camp. At this site he came across strange-looking aluminum, a hundred yards of it."

"Strike, Jack, not gold-filled wagons, and just because he found a bunch of aluminum cans — I just don't see where any of that helps," Alexander said.

Farbeaux looked from the letter to Alexander who had joined them at the table. He then fixed Jack with his own penetrating eyes. "I think I see what you're saying, Colonel."

"Lattimer didn't find his strike, he found the diary and then he found at least one of the wagons of gold."

"Whoa, that's stretching things, Jack," Punchy said with a shake of his head.

"No, he tells us it was the mother lode, and it wasn't a deposit he found in the river right here." Jack pointed to the dates of the first notes in the upper right-hand corner. The pencil used was faded, but the date was clearly visible: July 22, 1968. "That is the date he wrote his relatives on the back page of the last entry of the journal. Now look here, the last thing he writes is the fact that he was sending Ellenshaw back with the journal and he would take the strike and head back when he had assistance from the local Indians to help load it."

"So?" Alexander asked.

"The date, old friend, on that last letter — July 23, 1968. Now, how can he have a strike, a find of any kind, and have it dug out of the ground, packed, and ready to go in one day, or even two, three, or four?"

"I'll be damned," Alexander said. "Yes, I would say, maybe he found it already smelted and put into coin, maybe American double eagles, just as…"

"The diary said," Jack and Henri finished for Punchy.

"Now that is what's called a gold strike," Alexander said smiling. Then the smile faded. "Still doesn't say where along the Stikine to look."

"I think it does," Henri said, shuffling through the letters. "Now, the map that was inside of the journal is worthless, no markings of any value. Except for this." Farbeaux pulled over the last page Jack was holding and then the map with Lattimer's little chicken scratches on its old face. "Here, he says he's sending Charlie Ellenshaw and the grad students back to the camp, and he figured they could find their way back in a matter of two days down river."

"Yes?" Punchy said, but Jack already pieced it together and so he stood and walked over to the map and looked.

"The wording, Mr. Alexander," Henri said. "He mentions the camp; obviously we thought he was saying it was the camp of the graduate students he was hired as guide for. Now, anywhere on the upper Stikine is many more days by boat back to civilization than just a mere two days, not two days journey, so it has to be another camp, perhaps—"

"A fishing camp," Jack said turning to face the two men. "The Tlingit Indian Fishing Camp to be exact." He jabbed a finger at a spot on the large map. "This Wahachapee settlement right here."

"Even if it isn't so, Colonel, I believe it is a good place to start looking," the Frenchman said as he stood, walked into the bathroom, and poured out his coffee. "If young Sarah brings back anything at all from your complex, Colonel, I pray it's real coffee, French roast if possible."

Jack didn't answer the remark, knowing Farbeaux was trying to take his mind off of Lynn if only for a moment. Instead, he just turned and looked at the map once more and studied the legend at the top and its wholly unintentional foreboding message: UNEXPLORED REGION — STIKINE ARCHIPELAGO WILDERNESS.