Ken Goddard - Chimera

“Yes, I understand,” Fogarty acknowledged.

“Carolyn was booked into the hospital as a Jane Doe,” Bulatt went on. “As soon as the both of you have received proper medical treatment, and talked with the local U.S. Attorney, you’ll both be moved to a secure location by the U.S. Marshall’s Service.”

“You mean witness protection?”

“The arrangement I set up isn’t as formal as witness protection,” Bulatt said, “but that program is available to you if you need it or want it. Personally, I don’t think you will. By the time you’re ready to make that decision, we’ll have dealt with Emerson and his men; and both you and Carolyn will be able to go back to living your normal lives, such as they are.”

“And what if you don’t manage to deal with them,” Fogarty demanded. “What if they do manage to escape and ‘go to ground,’ as you put it?”

“In that unlikely event,” Mr. Fogarty, “Bulatt said calmly, “you can take some comfort in the fact that they’re going to be a lot more upset at us than they will be at you.”

McAllister Field, Yakima, Washington

Gedimin Bulatt and Achara Kulawnit were parked on a side road in a rented pickup truck, wearing white cammo suits with drawn-back hoods over the cold weather gear they’d borrowed from the nearby U.S. Military Training Facility earlier that morning. Now they were sitting silently and staring out across an open field at the tarmac where older men were standing next to a blue-and-white-painted helicopter; while two much younger men were helping unload equipment bags out of the rear cargo compartment of a Gulfstream-Four jet.

A light flurry of snow was falling around the truck, forcing Bulatt to use the wipers every minute or so to keep the windshield clear.

About ten minutes later, after the crew of the G-Five secured the cargo hatch, got back in the plane, and began taxiing out to the runway, Bulatt turned to Achara.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and then realized she was staring at him with a bemused expression on her face. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Achara shook her head. “It’s just… this is the first time I’ve seen you without the beard and long hair, that’s all; it takes some getting used to.”

“An improvement?” Bulatt grinned.

“Definitely different,” Achara said noncommittally.

“Right now, I’ll settle for different,” Bulatt said, turning his attention back to the six figures now gathered around the helicopter that — from his vague knowledge of military helicopters — looked like a Blackhawk transport aircraft modified for civilian use. “There’s a good chance that Emerson or one of his men saw me from a distance out at the electronics shop. I doubt that they got a close or clear look; but there’s no sense in making our lives difficult from the onset. And besides, I’m supposed to be a jarhead, remember?”

“You definitely… look the part,” Achara said.

He set the truck into gear and then reached down and released the emergency brake.

“Okay,” he said with a smile of anticipatory satisfaction, “one last time: everything that happened from the moment we stepped off the U.S. Marshall’s transport G-Four yesterday is a relevant part of our cover. We flew into Yakima last night to pick up our field gear at the training center, stayed on base in separate NCO billets — because the U.S. Military’s got a thing about cohabitation — and had breakfast at the mess hall very early this morning, which gave me just enough time to get a ‘trim’ before driving out here. You’re Carolyn Fogarty, the ornery bow-hunting daughter of Sam Fogarty; and I’m Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Gediminas Bulattus, your indifferent-to-hunting-critters fiance. We first met when you were bow-hunting in southwestern Idaho — where you always hunt, and I was out hiking — and you damn near put an arrow through my head, which made it love at first sight, as far as I was concerned. Anything that’s happened between then and now is none of their business. Got it?”

“Apart from the fact that I don’t think I believe you about the cohabitation rules,” Achara said with a half-smile and a dangerous glint in her eyes, “yes, I’ve got it.”

“And you are going to be able to maintain your character, and a reasonably calm demeanor, even when we meet Marcus Emerson and his men, correct? You do understand that we don’t have any direct evidence that puts any of them at the scenes with your brother or your father; and that we’re going to need Michael Hateley’s cooperation and testimony to take them down?”

“Yes, I understand that we need Mr. Hateley, and that I have to stay in character with Emerson and his men no matter what they say or do,” Achara acknowledged. “But what if things get out of control, and they start shooting at us.”

“If that happens,” Bulatt said, “you’ll have a simple choice: either duck and run, or join me in fighting back.”

Achara smiled. “Excellent,” she said, the dangerous glint still visible in her eyes, “because fighting back that is exactly what I intend to do.”

Bulatt drove the truck up to the chain-link fence separating a dirt parking lot from the make-shift helipad, and parked. Then he and Achara got out, and started taking their equipment bags, a military rifle case, the spears, the bow and quiver of arrows, and other camping gear out of the back of the pick-up’s bed.

As they did so, four green-cammo-jacketed figures broke away from the group around the helicopter, walked thru the gate and came over to the truck. One of the figures — the largest and tallest by at least fifty pounds and a good twelve inches — was carrying a kit bag. The two figures wearing coveralls and down jackets with pilot insignias remained by the helicopter.

“Mike Hateley,” one of the green-camouflage-dressed figures said as he stopped in front of Achara and extended his hand. “I assume you’re Carolyn, Sam’s daughter?”

“That’s right,” Achara said with an amiable nod as she took Hateley’s hand. “Nice to meet you, finally, after all these years. And this is my fiance, Ged.”

As Bulatt and Hateley shook hands, the other three figures moved in closer.

“This fellow is Stuart Caldreaux, a name I’m sure you’ve also heard many times,” Hateley said, “although we all much prefer to be called by our first names.”

“Stuart, nice to meet you also,” Achara said as she shook both of their hands.

“And this is Quince,” Hateley went on, “the fellow who’s going to be leading us into the field today.”

Lanyard took Achara’s hand, cocked his head slightly as he casually examined the features of her face. “Carolyn, I’m told you’re substituting for your father today.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, meeting his gaze calmly. “It was my fault he was hurt; so, with all due respect to the other hunters here, I intend to bring him back the best mammoth of the lot as a fitting trophy for his wall.”

“Gentlemen, I think we’ve just had the gauntlet laid down,” Caldreaux said with a grin.

“I like your spirit, lass,” Lanyard said. “I’ll see to it you get a fair start against this scrummy lot.”

Then he turned to Bulatt, giving him the same once-over with probing eyes as they shook hands. “Ged, it looks to me as if you and your lady-friend were planning on going out on maneuvers, instead of hunting,” he said, gesturing with his head at the white cammo tunics and pants, and the camping and survival gear with visible US ARMY markings.

“The advantage of knowing an amiable supply sergeant with a taste for Black Jack,” Bulatt said. “I’m not familiar with the weather in this part of Washington, so I figured military cold weather gear would be a good choice. And I also assumed the whites would be helpful in tracking big game in a snow storm,” he added, looking around at the others who were dressed in green camouflage clothing, “although I might have misjudged that situation.”