James Smith - Hybrid

“Standard precautions, Mr. Farmington. Give any wolves you spot a wide berth. Think of them in the same way you might a Grizzly.”

The scoutmaster looked puzzled. “But I’ve always heard that wolves stay far away from people.”

“I don’t want to frighten any of the Scouts. Use common sense. Anyway, I’m only talking here about a slim chance of encountering a wolf or a bear. But just to be extra cautious, we’re making flyovers in your area this weekend.”

Farmington smiled. “That’s terrific, Mr. Corey. It’s good to know the Park Service is keeping a watch out for us.”

“Just doing my job, Mr. Farmington. Just doing my job.”

While Montgomery drove toward headquarters, heavy traffic was already building: half of it pickup trucks with camper shells and RVs lashed with bicycles and folding chairs on the rear. They weaved from the middle of the road to the shoulder, hustling along at a top speed of maybe twenty-five. On their bumpers were license plates with pictures of bronco-riding cowboys or skiers and some with mottos proclaiming Greatest Snow on Earth .

After he arrived at headquarters there was a note on his desk from “G.M.” McFarland wanted to see him as soon as possible. Strange. He’d never been called into her office alone before. But everyone was walking around on eggshells. He had a gut feeling that he knew what it was all about.

When he tapped on her open door she invited him to sit.

“First let me say, Bantz, that Superintendent Gilmer and I are most appreciative of your hard work on the wolf problem.”

That’s a first. He’d never been thanked by anyone at her level or above for anything he’d ever done. He knew what was coming. It was obvious from her body language at the earlier meeting in her office that she was preparing a change in field strategy.

McFarland hesitated, as if trying to gather the right words. “I’m aware our meeting like this is a bit unusual, but I had a long discussion with the superintendent before leaving you the note.”

So this is how they tell you that you’ve been transferred to another assignment? Or to another national park? Little did she know that she was playing his song.

“I’ll confess that I was surprised by your note,” he said. “You know, I’ve put in a good eight years.”

Best to play dumb… play along with the script.

“Let me stop you right there, Bantz. As you’re well aware, we’re facing the biggest problem since the fires of ‘88. The fact that Operation Wolfstock has been corrupted by a killer hybrid wolf is nothing short of a disaster. All of this means those who fought bringing wolves back to Yellowstone were right, Bantz. That includes most of the US Congressmen in the tri-state area, not to mention the powerful lobbies from the cattle industry. In my opinion the Park Service didn’t have any idea what it was doing at the time. They were like infants wrestling with a tiger.”

She was talking too fast. Her words had the odor of bull crap. “To be honest with you, Miss McFarland, I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“I need your help.”

Say what? A red flag flashed in his head. Here she was coming late onto the Yellowstone scene, second-guessing everything that had been done and everyone responsible for it as if she was some kind of expert who would have made everything perfect if only the Park Service had had the wisdom at the time to bring her on board.

“Let me assure you of one thing, Miss McFarland, you can count on Jack Corey to take care of this.” He never thought those words would come out of his mouth, but her self-righteousness wrenched it out of him. But why was he defending Jack Corey of all people? Because in the heat of anger he wasn’t going to allow a damn bureaucrat who had never stepped foot in the field to get in the last word.

“You sound so certain about Jack.” She acted surprised.

“I’ve known him longer than anyone around. He has a track record of taking on assignments that no one else in the Park Service wanted to touch with a logger’s pike.”

She pushed her chair away from the desk and crossed her legs, as if to actually begin listening. “Do you mean assignments like the poacher the two of you found last week?”

“Well… that’s the most recent example.”

“Did you know the guy retained a lawyer? He’s filing charges. Corey’s action was totally out of line, Bantz.”

No shock that Corey had failed to let him know about that one. “The point is that Jack can get things done when he puts his mind to it. But maybe that’s another story. May I ask what you have planned for me?”

“I’ll be straight with you,” she answered. “I’ve been having doubts about Jack taking charge of this search from the beginning.”

“If you’re thinking I might take over for him, don’t count on it. I won’t work behind his back.”

“I’m not asking that. Jack’s had a lot of pressure on him lately. You’re aware of that?”

“Are you talking about his family situation?” he asked.

“Well, yes, among other things.”

“I think we’re getting into territory we should stay out of.”

“You’re absolutely right, Bantz.” She quickly stood and extended her hand. “Thanks for coming in. You have a lot of work ahead of you and I’m keeping you away from it.”

He reached for her hand, the first time he’d ever shook it. Her grip was firmer than that of most men.

“I trust,” she said, “that you’ll keep our little talk confidential?”

“Of course. But one thing you should know. Jack and I will handle it. You can count on it.”

Dietersat in the living room after the kids had gone to bed. He’d heard the news about the death of a hiker in the Park, but the coverage was confusing. It appeared to have been a Grizzly attack and was under investigation. He’d told the kids nothing about the plane incident, hoping that Michael would not connect with it at school either. The mishap had been a close call. If Amy had flown a few feet lower, it could’ve been all over for both of them. That thought made him aware once again: there were no godparents for his kids.

Molly and the Judge came to mind, but so did their age. He had a good friend back in Bucks County, Dale McGregor. He’d graduated from high school with Dale, even roomed with him at Penn State when they were freshmen. They’d remained friends over the years. He was an investment banker, but the last time they’d talked he was on his second marriage and gave the impression that one wasn’t a thrill ride either. He’d put off thinking about the kids for too long. Tomorrow he needed to talk with Molly. See where she stood on the matter.

A copy of Veterinary Quarterly lay opened in his lap and Rusty was sleeping on the throw rug by his side. He looked down at Rusty and called to him. Abruptly awakened, the dog plunked his paws on his master’s leg to get a head rub. Dieter stood and flipped on a Phil Collins CD. While mouthing the words to One More Night, he picked up the TV remote and clicked through the channels. He searched for anything—an old M*A*S*H re-run, a decent movie. Finally he hit the off button and walked into the kitchen. He stopped to stare into the sink at the pile of dirty glassware and dishes.

How many days had those been there? He rinsed a plate and bent down to place it in the dishwasher when something through the window over the sink caught his eye— a fleeting shadow in the distance. He pressed his midriff against the edge of the sink and leaned closer to the window. A three-quarter moon lit up the night.

Perhaps he was too jumpy lately. He opened the cabinet under the sink and grabbed a flashlight, then rushed to the closet and rummaged behind the coats until he found the baseball bat. When he slid open the glass door onto the deck, the only sound was a symphony of tree frogs. Rusty rushed into the backyard clearing while Dieter squeezed the handle of the bat and scanned the woods. Something darted among the trees. Rusty barked and ran toward it.