David Golemon - Primeval

"I am astounded at your knowledge of such mundane things as gold, Ms. Simpson, truly amazed."

"We have to be up on the markets for terrorism purposes, that fact shouldn't surprise you that much."

"Nonetheless, you are correct. And somewhere out there is two wagons full of them and we are now here to find those wagons' resting place."

Lynn could sense the lie coming from Sagli's mouth. At first, she thought he was telling the truth, but it was in the way he quickly turned away from her that undid him. She was trained to see the small of a lie, when a larger one would have been hidden the truth better. She had also noticed that among the copies Sagli was examining, there was one that stood out. It was a computer-generated letter that had English language written upon it, and she saw the header; it was from the NSA — the National Security Agency of her own country.

"And no one since this Lattimer guy has ever looked for it?" she asked, trying to keep him talking and eyeing the papers, trying to see more of the NSA printout he held.

Sagli turned back to face her; at the same time he reached out and took the heavy double eagle from her hand and replaced it in the plastic case.

"As a matter of fact, this coin was found nearby back in 1968."

"And all of this stems from a Russian diary from 1918?"

"Yes, that was the starting point for Lattimer, when he found the rotting diary along this very point of the river, possibly at this very spot."

Lynn couldn't help but smile. "And you, being the wealthiest man in Russia, you decide to throw it all away for a treasure hunt, one that wouldn't even be a decimal point in advantage to that wealth? No, Mr. Sagli, I don't buy it, just like my agency won't swallow that load of bull. What are you really looking for?"

Sagli smiled. This time the humor went all the way to his eyes, which was far more unsettling to Lynn than when it hadn't.

"We are looking for the gold, and it is a far more valuable commodity than you or your agency is aware of."

Lynn watched Sagli walk away and then stride into the large tent. She followed at a slower pace as to not attract the attention of the men she knew had been assigned to watch her. As she stepped to the side of the unzippered flap, she leaned in and saw that Sagli was listening to the right side of a headset, and as he held the radio link up, he absentmindedly tossed the coin onto the large table that held the radio. As she examined that table, she saw small pieces of twisted metal lying next to even more of the gold coins. Before she could see the twisted shards of black painted metal closer, a large hand grabbed her arm and turned her around. She came face to face with Gregori Deonovich. He was wild haired and dirty. Several of the camps men were pulling the Zodiac he had arrived in up the bank of the river. Deonovich roughly pushed Lynn into the tent.

Sagli lowered the headphones, and saw his partner and the angry expression he had on his filthy face. Deonovich raised a hand and then brought it down across the face of the American woman. Lynn fell to the nylon floor of the tent and then received a kick from the much larger man.

"Brother, brother, what is the matter with you, we were just trying to contact your team, what happened?" Sagli said, grabbing Deonovich and staying the next kick he had already drawn back to deliver to Lynn.

"Someone is tracking this woman. An aircraft we thought was nothing more than fishermen opened fire on us from the air." He turned to face Sagli. "They took out my entire team." He suddenly stopped and then pulled Sagli to the back of the tent, angrily ordering some of the technicians away.

Lynn wiped blood from her mouth and then rubbed her ribs where the big boot had landed squarely. Then she saw the animated way Deonovich was talking to Sagli. Lynn could see by the large man's body language that it wasn't just the reverse ambush of his men, it was something else. Sagli turned away and closed his eyes. Then he turned back angrily.

"Was he killed?" he asked.

Deonovich looked from his partner to Lynn, then he stepped forward and once more removed Sagli from earshot. He whispered something and then let go of his arm.

"Still, would it not have been more prudent to allow the aircraft to land before opening fire on it? That way you would have at least known who was on it. Now we have lost men we cannot replace and you have also left a now obvious enemy in our rear."

"They have no radio, and that gives us at least two or three days to find what we came for," Deonovich said by way of making things right with his partner for his failed ambush and the planned murders of the fishing camp family. "That means they either have to go downriver for help, in which case when they return with help we will be gone from this place, or they will come after us. And that will be to our advantage because they will be bringing our…" He stopped talking and looked at Lynn. "Get this woman out of here," Deonovich shouted at the men lining the front of the tent. After Lynn was picked up and moved out, Deonovich continued. "These intruders obviously do not realize who it is they have brought with them."

"Still, the chances of our success have now been diminished at the very least." Sagli turned away in deep thought. He turned back to face Deonovich. "Do you have any idea who these people were?"

"I have no idea, they were expert marksmen I can tell you that, my friend. But the means in which they arrived should rule out the possibility of a government resource, even a Canadian one."

"Your meaning?" Sagli asked.

"The aircraft they arrived in looked as if it had been taken from a museum."

Sagli was confused as to who these intruders at the fishing camp could be. Especially if they had who Deonovich described as their partner on the same plane as themselves.

"Well," he said with a shrug. "The stakes are too high for us to concern ourselves with such a small force. We will watch and wait and continue our search, and when these men arrive, if they arrive, we will kill them all."

As both men stepped aside and allowed the technicians to continue adjusting their equipment, Sagli stopped at the tents flap and saw Lynn facing north across the river. Then he noticed a few of his own men looking in that direction. Before he could order all of them back to work, he heard what it was that had stopped everyone in their tracks. The hammering of wood on wood had started again from deep in the forest across the river. Sagli stepped from the tent and cocked his head to the right side, trying to figure area and distance of the irritating, strange sound. As he did, several more of the distinctive slapping of wood commenced in other parts of the forested wilderness. Some sounded as if they were on their side of the river. Unnerved, Sagli turned to Deonovich.

"I want a fifty percent alert status on watch tonight. I suspect we have Indians indigenous to this area out there trying desperately to get our attention, and I don't know what they have planned, but I want to be ready for whatever it is."

The noise grew in volume and continued for three hours until the sun set behind the western mountains, and then all became horribly still; even the constant buzzing of insects ceased as the moon slowly rose over the Stikine River and its nervous visitors.

The Chulimantan were starting to move south from the small plateau and into the valley of the Stikine.

Will Mendenhall had been placed in the bow of the fifteen-foot Zodiac boat. The old river craft had been reinforced at the bow and stern with slabs of plywood, and there was a small cockpit complete with a windshield and an ice-chest stool for the river pilot. Marla's father had built in coolers and the control panel with throttles for the twin Evenrude motors, complete with depth finders and fish locators. As Will looked back at the cockpit where Carl Everett sat, his eyes moved to the colonel. Jack had placed Will in the bow as a lookout, and then had placed Henri Farbeaux and Punchy Alexander at the sides for the same purpose, while he sat next to Everett, cleaning one of the hunting rifles: an old-fashioned.30-.30 Winchester.