Ken Goddard - Chimera

“’Nawlins will rise up from the proverbial ashes once again, just as she always has,” Caldreaux replied in his rich Cajun drawl. “Not sure Ah can say the same fo’ myself, though.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“Ah jest received a call from a mutual friend of ours, tellin’ me that he had to cancel my planned hunt in Thailand and Malaysia next month. Said the po-litical situation is currently too unstable in the southern peninsula. Don’t know ‘xactly what he meant by that, but it did sound a mite ominous.”

“Did you ask him for specifics?”

“Yes sir, Ah did, but our mutual friend was a little vague. Wasn’t tellin’ me the whole story, Ah’m pretty sure — which isn’t like the man, if you know what Ah mean?”

“I agree, that doesn’t sound like him at all,” Hateley said supportively. “He’s always been straight-forward and up-front with me, as far as I know.”

“But that led me to thinking,” Caldreaux went on, “didn’t you go on a hunt with our mutual friend in Thailand just recently, lookin’ for that mythical Giant Clouded Leopard you’re always goin’ on about?”

“Yes, I did. Matter of fact, I just got back a couple of days ago.”

“How’d it go? Any luck?”

“The hunt itself was spectacular. Set myself up a midnight shoot on a bamboo stand, using the two-forty-three Remington and a new fourth-generation Aries Crusader night scope I just picked up; and managed to drop a big Cloud that was prowling around high in the trees about a hundred yards out. Magnificent specimen — had to be in the hundred-and-twenty kilo range; definitely world record class.”

“Pardon me for sayin’ so, Michael, but it sounds like you’re describin’ a big fish what got away, ‘stead of a big trophy you’re havin’ center-stage mounted for our next get-together? Or did I misunderstand your meanin’?”

Hateley sighed. “No, Stuart, you were quite perceptive, as always. It seems our mutual friend managed to lose my trophy on his way out of the country; a major disappointment, as you might imagine. I never even got to touch it.”

“Gawd almighty! How’d he manage to do an outrageous thing like that?”

“I don’t know. Something about increased Ranger patrols in the entire southern peninsula, and having to abandon everything when they ran into an unexpected check-point situation. Like you, I don’t think I’ve heard the entire story.”

“Ah thought we’ve been payin’ a significant premium on our license fees to take care of them penny-ante check-point issues?”

“That was my understanding, too,” Hateley agreed. “Sounds like the Thais might have put a new park and wildlife management team in place. If that’s the case, we may have to renegotiate our access privileges.”

“Damn, Ah sure do hate to hear that. Ah always enjoy our little excursions into that part of the world, both the huntin’ and the socializing’ afterwards. You think it might be a pressure tactic by some of the locals, to try to get us to pay more?”

“That’s always possible,” Hateley said, “but I got the impression it had more to do with how the Thai hunting laws are being interpreted in the field. There was a bit of a confrontation out on the road near our hunting site between our friend and some Rangers on patrol on our last night, which ultimately led our hasty departure. I’d like to believe our mutual friend was being overly cautious in the face of unexpected circumstances in a foreign environment; but, in any case, I can’t imagine it’s going to take very long for things to regain their natural balance.”

“That would be nice.” Caldreaux was silent for a moment. “So Ah guess you’re plannin’ on canceling our dinner arrangements?”

Hateley sighed. “No, I’m not; I can’t see any reason to do that just because I came back empty-handed. And besides, we’ve got a nice menu all planned out for you fellows; just have to change my own entree selection to ‘fricassee of crow.’”

Caldreaux chuckled. “Well, it’s been nice chattin’ with you, Michael, as always. Good to hear you’re still maintain’ that marvelous sense of humor of yours; and Ah’m certainly looking forward to our little get-together.”

“Yes, Stuart,” Hateley said, staring at the empty spot on his trophy wall, “so am I.”

At Rigley Charters — Bangkok International Airport

The bright-blue-lettered sign on the hanger door read ‘RIGLEY CHARTERS.’

As Ged Bulatt, Pete Younger and Achara Kulawnit opened the door and walked inside the office, a slender, clean-cut man in his mid-thirties looked up from a computer. The tabs on his uniform shirt identified him as a pilot. A much larger man bearing Chinese character tattoos on his very muscular forearms and wearing a mechanics uniform sat at a far corner desk sorting through paperwork.

“May I help you?”

“I certainly hope so,” Younger said. “My mates and I would like to charter one of your aircraft for a week; and maybe keep it a few more days if things work out right.”

The pilot stood up from his computer, walked up to the counter and extended his hand. “Roger Rigley, owner and chief pilot, at your service. What exactly did you gentlemen have in mind?”

“We’re looking for something fast and fancy, capable of landing on small runways, adaptable to a change in flight plans on short notice, refrigeration for transporting anything we happen to snag on a hook, a couple of crackerjack pilots, a competent steward with an amiable sense of humor, and seating for six with full meal service,” Younger replied.

“That would be full meal and beverage service,” Bulatt amended.

“Goes without saying,” Younger agreed.

The pilot picked up a clipboard from a nearby desk and began to make notes. “You did say six?” He asked, looking up questioningly at the three men.

“We might be picking up a Sheila or two on the way,” Younger explained.

“Ah, yes, of course.” The pilot nodded in understanding as he made a few more notes. “I believe our G-Four would meet your requirements quite nicely, gentlemen. She’s a bit on the pricey side, but if we’re talking a full week — ”

“Price is not an object,” Younger said. “My American friend here is picking up the tab. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to offend us with anything but the finest.”

The pilot cocked his eyebrow at Bulatt who shrugged agreeably. “They tend to be expensive friends, but still cheaper than another wife,” he said. “What’s the availability of the plane?”

“Are we talking today?”

“That would be ideal.”

The pilot checked his watch. “Actually, she’s due in from Singapore in another half-hour or so; dead-heading back in from a previous charter. Fully cleaned and maintenance checked. We’ll have to re-configure the cabin, gas-up and re-supply the larder, of course; but that won’t take long once you make your selections.”

“You just have the one; G-Four, I believe it was?” Bulatt asked.

“At the moment,” the pilot nodded. “We’re hoping to pick up a G-Five next year if things continue to go well.”

“If you’ve only got the one, I hope the previous bloke didn’t fume the bloody place up,” Younger commented.

“I beg your pardon?” The pilot looked puzzled.

“I believe my friend is expressing his concern that your previous charter might have smoked on the plane,” Bulatt translated.

“Puts the Sheilas right off their feed, every time,” Younger added helpfully.

“Well, I know for a fact that Mr. — ah, Smith, doesn’t smoke; or, at least, he never has on our plane,” the pilot said confidently. “But, even if he did, I can assure you the cleaning service we employ is top-rate. The carpets and holding tanks are steam-cleaned, and the main cabin, galley, and toilet facilities get a complete vacuuming and sterile wipe-down after every charter. The only scent your, ah, lady-friends are apt to notice will be the warming hors d’oeuvres and the freshly-grilled lobster; or the prime rib, of course. I’m assuming you’d prefer the deluxe service package?”