Ken Goddard - Chimera

“Twenty-four hours would be nice; forty-eight even nicer. Smith seems to have a wallet-full of get-out-of-jail cards.”

“How about Smith goes down for assaulting a federal agent, with witnesses present, and I get to meet the princess?”

“Who gets assaulted?”

“Me.”

“Think there’ll be any serious bruising involved? I really don’t like these guys hanging around our lab; kinda makes me nervous.”

“Count on it.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Bulatt agreed.

“You’ll still owe the rest of the guys, though,” Lightstone reminded. “We flew the whole way under the clouds, and some of those trees were pretty goddamned tall.”

“How about I let all you guys in on the take-down?”

“What are we talking about?”

“Right now, four extremely wealthy trophy-killers, probably in-your-face arrogant CEO-types with hidden collections who like to travel a lot; three ex-Australian SASR commandos turned hunting guides who, according to Smith, are good for the deaths of an international smuggler named Gregor and his entire crew, not to mention at least five dead Thai Rangers — including the Colonel’s son — and a lot of collateral damage that we know about; and maybe a bunch of Russian immigrants thrown in for good luck.”

“And you were planning on keeping these assholes all for yourself?” Lightstone asked accusingly.

“Just trying to stay flexible until the last minute,” Bulatt corrected. “Also, there’s the minor problem that I don’t know who they really are, or where they’re at, right now… except for Smith, of course.”

“But you do have a lead?”

“On one of the CEO’s,” Bulatt acknowledged. “A guy named Michael Hateley. I should know a lot more about Mr. Hateley and his associates in a few hours, assuming I can keep Smith and his goons away from my kid-hackers.”

“Consider it done. You want to make the wake-up call?”

“Sure.”

“Adios.”

“Later.” Bulatt disconnected the call, slipped the Blackberry back onto his belt, and then reached for the cell phone he’d taken off the watchman and punched in a series of numbers.

After four rings, a sleepy voice answered. “This is Smith, what’s the hell’s happening out — ?”

“Help,” Bulatt said calmly. Then he disconnected the call, turned the cell phone off, set it aside, and snuggled back into the comfortable cushions with a contented sigh.

Conference Room, Fish and Wildlife Forensics Lab

At fifteen minutes after eight in the morning, Gedimin Bulatt and Achara Kulawnit entered the National Fish and Wildlife Forensic Lab’s conference room where they found Renwick, Hager and Reston waiting.

“Have a productive evening?” Renwick asked as he glanced meaningfully at his watch.

“You might say that,” Bulatt said as he placed a satchel he’d been carrying on the table and then sat down at one of the empty chairs; Achara taking the adjacent chair. “Sorry we’re late. Achara and I had to stop by the Windmill Inn this morning to help some fellow agents deal with a few loose spiders.”

“Which you are going to keep, and not bring back here, like you promised?” Hager reminded.

Bulatt nodded. “That was the agreement; but it looks like I’m going have put them back in the bug room, temporarily, until the indictments get filed,” he added apologetically. “After that, we’re going to ship the little guys back to Mexico where they presumably came from. Achara and I will take care of the details.”

“Thank god,” Hager whispered.

“Indictments?” Reston said, her eyebrows rising curiously.

“There was a little altercation in the parking lot earlier this morning,” Bulatt explained. “A couple of our special ops agents managed to get themselves assaulted by some fellows who claimed to be federal law enforcement officers, but who couldn’t explain why they were in possession of illegal wildlife — our little red-legged friends — and some possibly-bogus federal government travel cards. Sounded like a pretty confusing deal; probably have to be worked out at the Washington Office level.”

“But it was very exciting to watch,” Achara added. “Lot’s of police cars and ambulances with flashing lights, tow trucks, the works; just like you see on American TV.”

“’Lots’ of police cars — meaning more than one — in Ashland, that early in the morning?” Hager looked skeptical.

“It helps to plan your altercations ahead of time,” Bulatt explained. “Gives the locals plenty of time to get their coffee, call in extra back-ups, and get a good front-seat view of the proceedings.”

“Ah.”

“And our Mr. Smith?” Renwick asked.

“According to the EMT’s, his prognosis looks fairly good. They said he’ll probably be back on his feet in a few days without any serious complications, if you don’t count the assault complaint our agents will be filing with the local U.S. Attorney,” Bulatt said matter-of-factly. “In any case, I don’t think he’ll be bothering us for a while. The guy who pulled a knife on Stoner is another issue entirely; he won’t be up and moving around quite so soon.”

“What about my children?” Reston asked, looking tired and even more grumpy than usual from working all night. “Please tell me they weren’t involved in this… planned altercation.”

“Your sons spent the entire night in their hotel room, presumably working their little typing and mouse fingers to the bone,” Bulatt said, raising his hand in a ‘Scout’s honor’ gesture. “They were sound asleep when their father picked them up a four-thirty this morning. He seemed like a nice fellow.”

“If you happen to like big, ornery and aggressive federal law enforcement types,” Reston said with a shrug. “George had to fill-in on a stake-out last night. You and Achara saved us the expense of an overnight baby-sitter.”

“You actually leave those boys alone, overnight, with a baby-sitter?” Achara said, blinking in surprise.

“Not very often; their grandmother charges too much,” Reston said, keeping her reddened eyes focused on Bulatt. “You didn’t tell them I had access to your laptop, did you?”

Bulatt shook his head. “I didn’t figure that was something they needed to know.”

“Well, they didn’t believe you; that much was obvious,” Reston said. “But I have a feeling they were too busy showing off for Achara to make a thorough check. They found three of the worm programs I inserted, but missed the other two — one of which they should have found. And they really should have opened up the case and spotted the back-up transmitter. I thought I’d taught them better than that.”

“We might have clogged up their brains a bit with all that pizza and the chocolate chip cookies,” Bulatt suggested.

“More likely their brains are just starting to migrate south, which may or may not be a good thing,” Reston said. “Which reminds me, did you bring that laptop in?”

“Yep, right here.” Bulatt reached into the satchel, pulled out his laptop computer, and handed it to Reston who turned it over, examined the serial numbers on the back; then held it out at arm’s length and allowed it to drop to the floor with a loud crash.

“Oops,” Hager said casually.

Bulatt blinked in surprise. “Aren’t you being a little rough on my equipment?”

“Look who’s talking,” Reston muttered as she reached down, picked up the laptop, opened it up, turned it on, watched the computer screen flicker to life, frowned, then held it up higher and let it drop to the floor a second time.

Unable to resist, Bulatt looked around the edge of the table and saw that the computer screen was cracked but still glowing brightly.