Ken Goddard - Chimera

“By yourselves?”

“No, with our hired guides; they arrange the hunts.”

“Do you know what kind of animal Hateley was hunting?”

“He claimed he was going to bring back a trophy Clouded Leopard, bigger than anyone had ever shot before,” Fogarty said. “I don’t think any of us really believed him; but that was, supposedly, his intent.”

“Did he?”

“No, something happened with the shipment; something about it getting lost.”

“Hateley lost his trophy?”

“No, I gather the guides lost it. They’re the ones who always arrange for the transport of our trophies back to the States, and the mounting also. We never travel with — ”

“The evidence of your illegal hunts?” Bulatt suggested.

“Yes, that’s right,” Fogarty said uneasily.

“Who are these guides?”

“They’re — ” Fogarty paused and took in a deep breath.

“What are their names?” Bulatt pressed again.

“Marcus, Quince and Jake.”

“Tell me about them.”

“They’re seriously tough guys, let me tell you,” Fogarty said nervously, looking much paler now. “Probably Australian or British, I can’t tell from their accents. Marcus — Marcus Emerson — he’s the head honcho who makes the arrangements and takes us out on the hunts.”

“Emerson? You mean E-M-E-R-S-O-N?”

“I guess so,” Fogarty said with a wincing shrug, “although that’s probably not his real name; and probably not theirs, either, I suppose,” he added thoughtfully.

“How do we find this Mr. Emerson?” Bulatt asked.

“You don’t, or at least none of us ever has; and we have tried,” Fogarty said. “Marcus finds us, lets us know when the next hunt is ready, tells us where to go; and then shows up in the middle of the night like a goddamned vampire bat.”

“And he’s the one who arranged this alleged mammoth hunt?”

“It’s not alleged,” Fogarty insisted. “I saw them on video with my own eyes. They are real, believe me. Some Russian scientists apparently made four of them for Marcus out of elephant eggs or fetuses or babies, I’m not sure which. And we were going to hunt them — one for each of us. But then we discovered they’re still babies, and that’s when Marcus — ”

“Suggested an old-fashioned hunt, with spears?”

“Yes, exactly,” Fogarty nodded feverishly, and then winced again from the pain he seemed to be causing his shoulder. “But it’s still a perfectly legal hunt, right? I mean it’s not illegal to kill a mammoth, is it?”

“Beats the shit out of me,” Bulatt admitted. “But you’re sure this Marcus character will be there during the hunt?”

“Oh yes, no doubt about that,” Fogarty said.

“But you don’t know where it’s going to be held?”

“All we know is that we’re all supposed to fly to Cle Elum Municipal Airport tomorrow morning with all of our gear — nine o’clock arrival time — and they were going to meet us there and take us out to the hunt location in a helicopter.

“Cle Elum? You mean that little town northeast of Mount Rainier?”

“Yes, that’s it. But I gather the on-going snowstorm up there that has made the airport inaccessible for our planes, so we’re supposed to fly to McAllister Field in Yakima, Washington, instead. After we land, we’ll be taken to the hunt site by helicopter; apparently making it a ninety-mile trip instead of fifty.”

Bulatt looked up and saw Mike Takahara standing in the doorway. “You hear that?” he asked.

Takahara nodded. “Sounds like they’re going to be somewhere due north of Cle Elum; probably up in the middle of the Wenatchee National Forest. Some seriously rough country up in that area; high mountains, dense forest areas, and very few access roads. Bad place to get caught in a snow storm, especially if the temperature starts dropping like it is right now.”

“In other words, a perfect place to hold an old-fashioned mammoth hunt?”

“Especially if you want to shift the odds in favor of the mammoths,” Takahara said, nodding.

“According to Hateley, who was relaying instructions from Marcus, we’re supposed to dress for very cold conditions, and expect an added wind-chill factor; but not to worry about food and shelter because that will be provided,” Fogarty said. “Apparently, the snow is still coming down intermittently; but it shouldn’t impact our planes landing at Yakima, or our helicopter ride to the site. If anything, Marcus expects the storm to conceal our hunt from hikers or low-flying planes, and to force the animals into protected areas where they’ll be easier to hunt.”

“Have any of your CEO friends ever met Carolyn, face to face?”

“No.” Fogarty shook his head. “They’ve see pictures of her when she was… younger, but nothing recent.”

“Who’s going to meet you at Yakima?”

“I don’t know; probably Quince or Jake, one of the two.”

“Not Marcus?”

“No, I’m sure not; Marcus is never there when we arrive. He only shows up when the hunt actually begins.”

“Shit,” Bulatt muttered.

“Is something wrong?” A look of panic flashed across Fogarty’s face.

Bulatt looked up, and saw Stoner hovering in the doorway, picked up and shut off the tape recorder, and then stood up out of the chair. “You stay here, sport,” he said to Fogarty, gesturing with his head at the doorway, “I’ll right back.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Lightstone said flatly.

Bulatt and Achara were in the trophy room with Lightstone and Takahara, arguing back and forth. They’d been at it for almost five minutes.

“We can do it,” Achara insisted. “I’m telling you, we can.”

“I was referring to you, not Ged,” Lightstone said, glaring at Achara. “We already know he’s a nut case; but we thought you might have a little more common sense.”

“You just don’t think I can do it because I’m a woman! Go ahead, admit it!” Achara glared back at Lightstone.

“I tend to agree with Henry,” Bulatt said, ignoring Achara’s angry accusations. “But, the thing is, I just don’t know how else we can play it. According to Fogarty, this guy Emerson — presumably the main perpetrator we’re after — doesn’t show until everything’s in motion. Probably hangs out on the perimeter monitoring the environment. We’ve got to get him engaged in the hunt before you guys show up; or he’ll rabbit on us and go to ground, and then we’ll never find him.”

“It really is a woman thing, isn’t it?” Achara demanded, refusing to back down.

“If you two go in there cold like that, you’re going to get yourselves killed,” Lightstone said to Bulatt. “They’re not going to believe she’s Fogarty’s daughter, and when the shit hits the fan, there’s no way we’ll be able to get there in time to back you up; assuming we can even find you in the first place. The Wenatchee National Forest is a hell of a place to be looking for two people on the run in the middle of a snow storm. And don’t forget, we’re talking at least one expert long-range shooter here. You won’t even know you’re in the cross-hairs until your head suddenly explodes.”

“Thanks for the cheerful image; I’ll try to remember to keep my head down,” Bulatt said sarcastically.

“I can rig you up with an emergency GPS satellite transmitter that you can activate to call for help,” Takahara said, “but if this Quince character is up on his technology, which he probably is, he’ll be scanning for active transmitters. Once you turn it on, the game’s going to be up. They can use the signal to find you just as easily as we can, and they’ll have a big head start.”

“Why won’t they believe I’m his daughter? Did you see what she looks like? She’s got to be at least half Thai. Do you really think these goons can tell the difference?” Achara demanded.