Ken Goddard - Chimera

“That sounds like a very nice idea,” Achara said, nodding sleepily. “I think my brain and my body are residing in different countries.”

“Already taken care of,” Renwick said from the doorway. “We made reservations for you at the Windmill Inn, a couple of miles down the road. Take one of our lab rigs.” Renwick tossed a set of keys to Bulatt. “There are a lot of nice restaurants downtown, take your pick. Be back here by nine A.M. tomorrow, and we may have something for you.”

“Any place you recommend?” Bulatt asked.

Renwick and Hager looked at each other.

“The Kat Wok?” Hager suggested.

Renwick looked over at Achara. “How do you feel about Pan Asian stir-fry?”

“Depends on who’s doing the cooking,” she said with a tired smile. “If you were eating there tonight, instead of working, what would you order?”

“Probably grilled salmon, or the beer batter shrimp, along with the saffron rice and a spinach salad,” Renwick said.

“And don’t forget the Szechwan beans as an appetizer,” Hager added. “You can make a meal out of the beans, if you don’t mind a lot of garlic.”

Bulatt and Achara looked at each other in unspoken agreement.

“Yes,” Achara said with a dimpled smile, “the Kat Wok will do just fine.”

“You guys are welcome to join us,” Bulatt said as he got up from the chair. “Special Ops is buying.”

“Appreciate the offer,” Renwick said, “but Steve, Juliana and I are going to have to rack up some serious overtime if you want — ”

“Pardon the interruption, folks,” a heavyset woman with shoulder-length red hair who looked to be in her mid-forties said as she walked into the room with a no-nonsense stride and stopped in front of Bulatt, who immediately stood up. “Hi,” she said, sticking out her hand, “I’m Linda.”

“Ged,” Bulatt said as he met her surprisingly firm handshake. “And this is Captain Achara Kulawnit from the Forestry Division of Thailand.”

“Achara will do fine,” Achara said as she also stood up and shook Linda Reston’s hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about your work, and your sons.”

“Don’t get me started on those two. I blame it all on their father,” Reston said as she took a grainy eight-by-ten photo out of a manila folder in her left hand and placed it on the lab bench. “What I need to know, right now, is if any of you recognize this fellow?

Bulatt took a quick look at the face of a man looking out the driver’s side window of a dark SUV and said: “yeah, I do. He’s some kind of federal government spook; goes by the name John Smith — at least with me, anyway.”

“And you know him from where?” Reston pressed.

“We gotten into a couple of altercations, first in Phuket a couple of days ago, and then at an electronics shop up in Redmond yesterday,” Bulatt said. “Both of us happened to be looking for the same people, and our wires got tangled.”

“You — you’re subject White?!” Reston blinked in surprise.

“One of his men referred to me by that name,” Bulatt said hesitantly. “How would you know that?”

Reston was fumbling in her manila folder, and came up with a stapled-together set of pages which she began flipping through quickly.

“Bit of an altercation?” Reston looked up from her papers, her eyes widened in disbelief. “ You’re the federal wildlife agent who beat the crap out of two of Smith’s operatives and shot a third?!”

“It sounds worse than it really was,” Bulatt said defensively. “The two goons in the parking lot wanted to walk away with my evidence, and the third guy drew a gun on me. None of them identified themselves as being a federal anything. What did they expect me to do, put my hands up, surrender, and hand over my evidence? Besides, the third guy was wearing a vest; I just bruised him up a little bit.”

“Which is presumably why he’s only lying in a Seattle hospital with his two buddies, listed as ‘out of action for an indeterminate time,’ instead of being planted,” Reston said, shaking her head. “Do you have any idea who your ‘John Smith’ is?”

“Some kind of Internal Affairs honcho from the Agency; or, at least, that’s what he implied. Can I see that report?”

“No, this report does not exist,” Reston said firmly. “And, yes, he does work for the Agency; but his name is not Smith, and that is not what he does.”

“How would you — ?” Bulatt started to say, but then remembered. “Oh yeah, that’s right, you used to — ”

“Work for the bastards when they were more civilized, and when the ‘John Smith’ teams were used sparingly and carefully controlled,” Reston finished.

“He claims to be one of the controllers,” Bulatt said.

“Yeah, that’s a funny one. Has it occurred to any of you to wonder where I got that photograph?” Reston gestured at the photo lying on the bench.

“That looks like it was taken by one of our lab surveillance cameras,” Hager said hesitantly.

“Kudos to the latent print guy,” Reston said with only a slight trace of sarcasm.

Bulatt picked it up and examined the familiar face for a moment before his eyes flicked down to the imprinted numerals at the bottom of the photo. He blinked in surprise and then quickly checked his watch. “Jesus, this was taken an hour ago?!”

“Outside the lab, on Campus Way, and hour and seven minutes ago,” Reston corrected.

“That son-of-a-bitch tailed a U.S. Marshall’s plane here — to Ashland?!” Bulatt’s eyes blazed.

“Not just to Ashland,” Reston corrected again, “to your specific hotel in Ashland. ‘Smith’ and five of his men checked in to the Windmill a little over two hours ago; probably because someone here at the lab made reservations in your real names with a government credit card.” Reston looked over at Hager who nodded ruefully. “These people have incredible resources. That’s how they work.”

“They?”

“The snake-eaters… hunter/killer teams,” Reston said. “Seriously dangerous people. You were out of your mind to mess with them up in Redmond.”

“And they’re all checked in at the Windmill in, right now?” Bulatt asked.

“All except for the guy taking first watch.”

“And where is he?”

“Behind the building, in the Campus way cul-de-sac.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Bulatt said as he got up, looked around the room, grabbed a roll of nylon strapping tape, and disappeared out the doorway.

“Hey, where the hell is he going?!” Reston demanded, looking around at Hager and Achara, both of whom shrugged their shoulders.

“My father says that Khun Ged is a man who instinctively confronts evil, because he knows no other way of dealing with it,” Achara said calmly. “Therefore, I would assume he’s going outside to confront evil.”

“Jesus,” Reston muttered as she lunged for a computer terminal.

While Reston was busy punching keys and working her mouse, Captain Achara Kulawnit calmly walked over to the lab bench, picked up the ‘non-existent’ report, and began to read.

Outside the National Fish and Wildlife Forensics Lab

The man ‘John Smith’ left on first watch in the dark blue SUV was still searching the broadband for a good AM station when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, looked up, saw a government-licensed pickup truck pull out of the rear parking lot of the National Fish amp; wildlife Forensics Lab and turn up Campus way — in his direction — at a high rate of speed, and with all lights off.

“What the — !”

Reacting instantly, as he’d been trained, the man turned on the SUV’s engine and started to reach for his safety belt.

At that moment, the on-coming truck’s high-beam headlights erupted in a blinding burst of light that caused the man to bring his hands up, reflexively, to protect his eyes. In doing so, he never saw the truck suddenly swerve directly toward the front bumper of his vehicle.