Ken Goddard - Chimera

“Around here? Fat chance,” Fogarty snorted. “You want to bow-hunt a deer like one of these guys, you’ve got to go to Idaho, Wyoming or Montana.”

“Let me guess, Idaho?” Bulatt offered.

“All three of them; Idaho bred and born, from just south of the Gospel Hump Wilderness Area,” Fogarty said with a fierce expression of pride on her face. “The one on the far left was two seasons ago, the one in the middle last year, and the one on the right this year. I’d like to see my father match that with one of his damned spears.” She laughed harshly.

“You can see the progression,” Bulatt said. “Each year, you’ve taken a bigger — and I can only assume a stronger — animal. I think we’ve got the central theme for the article,” he said to Achara with a meaningful tone to his voice.

“I was told that you usually bow-hunt alone. Do you ever go hunting with your father?” Achara asked, instinctively deciding to press the sensitive issue just a little bit more; and was startled to see Fogarty’s face redden from some inner fury that seemed barely under control.

“We used to go hunting together all the time,” she said bitterly, “but now he and his friends only care about themselves and their goddamned trophy rooms. The biggest hunt of an era,” she snarled, “and he won’t even take me along to watch, much less take part in the hunt; something I’ve dreamed about doing since I was a kid. Something I think I was destined to do. Can you believe that?!”

“I’m sorry,” Achara said soothingly, “I didn’t mean — ”

Some barrier in Fogarty’s mind suddenly seemed to rupture.

“Do you want to see what I have to compete against? Come on, let me show you.”

Then, before Achara and Bulatt could do or say anything, Carolyn Fogarty moved over to the wall directly across from the doorway, reached up, turned two mounted lamps to a ninety-degree angle, and then stood back as the entire wall slid apart in two receding panels.

“Oh my god,” Achara whispered as she stared disbelievingly at the dozens of endangered species mounts displayed on the cavernous walls of the hidden room, only vague aware of the flash from Bulatt’s camera.

“That’s all he cares about any more,” Fogarty said, the tears now flowing down her face. “And it’s only going to get worse if he actually manages to kill a — ”

The door burst open behind the three figures, and Sam Fogarty charged into the room with an obsidian-tipped spear clenched in his right hand.

“What the hell are you two doing here?!” he demanded, his face almost purple with rage.

“I let them in here, father!” Carolyn Fogarty yelled back. “I wanted them to see for themselves exactly what kind of man you really are!”

“You… you…” Fogarty looked as if he was going apoplectic. “Get out of my house!” he finally managed to rasp at Achara. “You have no right to be here!”

“Actually, we were invited into this house, and into this room, by your daughter, Mr. Fogarty,” Bulatt said, holding up his special agent badge-case in his left hand, and sweeping his jacket back with his right to expose his holstered Sig Sauer pistol. “My name is Gedimin Bulatt. I’m a special agent of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service; and because your daughter also invited us into this trophy room, willingly and of her own accord, I’m placing you — as the head of this household — under arrest for suspicion of numerous violations of the Endangered Species Act. Put the spear down, right now.”

“SHE… WHAT?!” Fogarty screamed in furious disbelief.

“Put the spear down, Fogarty, now!” Bulatt ordered again, swiftly drawing his pistol, but keeping it pointed at the floor.

“Ha, so much for your goddamned ‘hunt of the era’, father,” Carolyn Fogarty sneered, her eyes glistening now with the fury of vengeance delivered. “Let’s see you try to spear that baby mammoth from a prison cell!”

“You… you traitorous bitch!” Fogarty started to bring the spear up, and then screamed in surprise and agony as an obsidian-tipped arrow streaked across the room and ripped into his right shoulder. The spear clattered on the wooden floor. Fogarty started to reach for it, and Bulatt was sighting on his center of mass — prepared to put a forty-caliber hollow-point bullet in the enraged man’s heart, and a second in his head — when he sensed a figure moving quickly to his right. He spun around, saw Carolyn Fogarty pull another homemade arrow out of the quiver, and then watched her crumble to the floor under the savage impact of a spinning head-kick from Achara Kulawnit.

Sam Fogarty — dazed now from the combination of rage and searing pain — was still fumbling for the dropped spear when Bulatt’s right boot came down hard on the shaft; followed by his left boot that shoved Fogarty away from the ancient weapon and onto his back.

“This is Ged. Get your butts up here, and while you’re at it, roll a paramedic unit. We’ve got two suspects down who need some medical attention,” Bulatt said, speaking into his Blackberry. Then he looked over at Achara, who was on her knees, examining the unconscious figure of Carolyn Fogarty.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Achara gave him a thumbs-up sign.

“Good. If and when she comes to, keep her down and away from anything sharp,” he said as he replaced the Blackberry in his belt holder and tossed Achara a set of handcuffs. Then he turned his attention back to the bleeding man sprawled on the floor.

“Now then,” Mr. Fogarty,” Bulatt said as kicked the spear aside, holstered his pistol, and then squatted down next to the pale-faced and whimpering CEO, “while we’re waiting for medical help to arrive, and while I’m trying to make some sense out of a lot of very confusing information, why don’t you explain to me — as carefully and precisely as you can — exactly why your daughter seems to think you’re planning on going out and spearing a baby mammoth.”

An hour later, the emergency medical technician finished tying a sling around Sam Fogarty’s right arm and shoulder, stepped away from the couch where the still dazed and now mildly drugged CEO was lying, and approached Bulatt.

“I really ought to be transporting both of them,” he said with a serious expression on his face.

“Is he really that badly hurt?” Bulatt asked.

The EMT shrugged. “No, I suppose not. Looks like the arrow missed the major nerves and blood vessels. He’s got some significant tissue damage, and he definitely won’t be using that arm for a while; but he’s not in any immediate danger of anything other than infection. The wound’s dressed, and the bleeding’s stopped, so a couple of hours, one way or the other, isn’t going to make much difference. His daughter, however, took a serious blow to the head. We really do need to get her to the hospital.”

“What do you think, Fogarty?” Bulatt said, walking over to the sprawled CEO. “You want a ride to the hospital, in handcuffs, along with your daughter, so a doctor can take a look at that shoulder before we throw your ass in the can; or do you want to stay here for a couple more hours and discuss your situation?”

Fogarty blinked, and then stared at Bulatt.

“Do I have any options?”

“Everybody’s got options.” Bulatt shrugged. “Yours are just a little more complicated than most. If it helps you with your decision, I really don’t care if you end up being charged with a couple dozen ES violations, or not.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m very serious.”

“Can I have my lawyer here?”

“I advised you of your rights under Miranda, and you agreed that you understood the terms,” Bulatt reminded. “You can have your lawyer here any time you want; but the moment you make that call, we stop talking about everything — which specifically includes your options.”