Chimera (30 page)

“That’s just it, I really don’t think they would kill us,” Tsarovich argued.
 
“Think about it; they need us — you especially.
 
How else can they obtain more exotic creatures for their barbaric hunts?”

“They might not kill us,” Draganov said uneasily, “but they would certainly kill the others here; probably one by one, until we agree to their terms.
 
Could you stand by and watch while they were all executed, over a few creatures that we know we can easily replicate?”

The logic was as clear to the two scientists as it was disheartening.

“No, I couldn’t,” Aleksei agreed with a deep sigh.
 
“We have to do as they say; but how will we be able to explain it to the others — and especially to Borya?”

“Borya can’t know, at least not right away,” Sergei Draganov said emphatically.
 
“He would never bow to such heresy, and they would certainly execute him as an example to the others — and to us.”

“But how do we keep it from him?
 
You know our staff; once they find out what we’re going to do, they’ll get word to him somehow.”

“Not necessarily,” Aleksei said.
 
“Not if we disable the wireless communication system and delay for a while repairing our phone line.
 
And even if he should become suspicious, the snow must be at least ten feet deep up at MAX by now — and it is still falling — so digging his way out to where we release the little ones from MIN would be an impossible task, even for Borya.”

“And he has no reason to do so, anyway, because his primary job — which we know he takes very seriously — is to stay at MAX and care for those creatures.”
 
Draganov smiled.

“Yes, it could work,” his brother agreed, “especially if no shots are fired during the hunt, and we release the animals far enough away from the Center so that no one here will know what’s happening.”

“Don’t forget, it has to be a place with at least four caves nearby,” Draganov went on, “so that Wallis’ hunters will have shelter at night; that was one of his requirements.
 
But also, ideally, from our standpoint, it should be a place where the little ones have a least some chance to remain hidden from —”

The two scientists looked at each other in sudden realization.

“The Maze,” Draganov whispered.

“What better place could we find?
 
Thousands of big rocks and trees, dozens of caves, and a labyrinth of inter-connecting chasms and gorges with the obvious pathways all circling back on each other.”
 
Tsarovich smiled.
 
“What better place for these crazy fools to try to hunt and kill the little ones with their ancient knives and spears and cleverly-rigged traps?
 
With luck — especially if the storms continue, as they likely will — the little ones will simply disappear within the Maze and never be found; at least not by any of them.”

“According to Emerson, the four intend to hunt only with the tools of early cavemen; flint knives, flint spears and lengths of crudely-woven rope.
 
They will have thermal clothing, and backpacks with water, basic survival rations, sleeping bags, and some kind of emergency shelters, no doubt; but no firearms, no radios or other electronic means of communicating with the outside or each other.
 
And no tracking devices either; which means no compasses or GPS units.
 
Those were the rules they all agreed upon.”

“They are fools to attempt such a thing in these mountains, and in this weather,” Tsarovich said flatly.

“Yes, but apparently wealthy fools, as well as avid hunters,” Draganov reminded.
 
“I’m sure they all possess survival skills.”

“Yes, undoubtedly; but, even so, without GPS units or a compass, it will be easy for them to become lost and perhaps never find their way out.”
 
Tsarovich smiled.
 
“It’s happened to many others over the years who were far better equipped.
 
And, in that case, perhaps our problem will be solved for good also; especially if Emerson and his two assistants take part in the hunt — which I believe they intend to do.”

“But how do we get the little ones all the way out to the Maze?” Draganov asked, suddenly looking concerned.
 
“We can’t possibly transport them there.
 
The access road is more of a bicycle path, at best; and the last mile to the south entrance is barely accessibly on foot, even in good weather.”

“Simple.”
 
Tsarovich shrugged.
 
“I will lay a trail of hay and fruit — using the Sno-Cat as far as it will go, and then the rest of the way on foot — from MIN to the southern entrance; and then go back and release the little ones with their mothers.
 
If I don’t put any more food into the bins, the mothers will certainly follow the food trail.”

The burly veterinarian started to say something else, and then hesitated when he saw the uncertain look on his brother’s face.
 
“What’s the matter?” he demanded.

“Emerson said he wanted the little ones released in an isolated hunting area,” Draganov said uneasily.
 
“He didn’t say anything about releasing the mothers too.
 
That could create a dangerous situation.
 
It is one thing for these wealthy and influential men to fail in their hunt; but it would be something else, entirely, if one of them should be killed by —”

“By a mother elephant trying to protect her young from the greatest predator that has ever lived on this planet; is that what we should be concerned about?
 
That one of these arrogant men might be gored or crushed?
 
So what if one of them dies?” Tsarovich scoffed.
 
“They claim they want a fair hunt — using only their brains, their hands and their crude weapons — so they can be proud of their trophies; fine, they shall have one.
 
But they should realize, also, that mammoths so young — no matter what the era — would always be in the company of their mothers.
 
These men should be happy they won’t have to deal with the protective fathers, as well; like the real cavemen most certainly did.”

“I suppose that is true,” Draganov conceded.

“And besides,” Tsarovich went on, “if all goes well in the Maze, perhaps predator and prey will never cross paths.”

“But if they do manage to escape, what will they do for food?
 
We can’t possibly carry enough food up there on foot to last them even a few days, much less through the entire winter; not even with Borya’s help.”

“The evergreens will provide some nourishment,” Tsarovich said.
 
“But as soon as the weather clears, even for a few hours, I’ll arrange for air-drops of hay throughout the Maze.
 
A hundred tons at least — enough to last all eight of them until spring — and I’ll make sure its spread out so that the mothers will be forced to hunt for the food, making little ones even more difficult to find.
 
It is a good plan, I think.”
 
The burly veterinarian nodded his head in satisfaction.

“Yes, I agree, it might work; but do we have enough time?” Draganov asked, suddenly looking panicked.

Aleksei nodded.
 
“Yes, I believe so, if I begin now and pace myself.”

“But you can’t do all of that work yourself,” his brother protested.
 
“You’ll need help, especially in this weather.”

Aleksei shook his head.
 
“No, you have to stay at the lab and continue working on the reverse probes to save Tanya.
 
The first set of cocktails slowed the structural changes down, certainly, and may even have stopped them for good; but Tanya cannot stay as she is forever.
 
Her heart rate is dangerously elevated, and the changes in her liver chemistry are becoming more pronounced.
 
You have to find a way to reverse the process.”

“Yes, I know.”
 
Draganov nodded his head, the fatigue evident in his reddened eyes.
 
“There has to be some aspect — a subset, perhaps — of the original switching processes that I’m missing; or simply not seeing.”

“Go back to work, Sergei,” Aleksei said, slapping his thick right hand on Draganov’s slumped shoulder.
 
“I’m sure you’ll figure out the right sequences; you always do.
 
And, in the meantime, while you are busy saving Tanya with your pipettes and probes, I will see how many of the little ones I can save with my tools.”

“And those would be?” Draganov asked, raising one tired eyebrow.

“The same one our forefathers have always used against far more powerful invading forces,” Tsarovich answered, “Russian stubbornness, guile, deceit and treachery.”

*
   
*
   
*

At the Khlong Preserve shooting site - later

It had started raining again, and the air was filled with the muted sounds of Hornbills, Bamboo Rats, tree frogs and insects all watching uneasily as Narusan and the professor finish mounting the laser-transit onto the re-assembled shooting platform.

Then, as Narusan and two Rangers headed out into the brush, Captain Achara Kulawnit stretched out on the platform and began to stare through the transit scope at a distant clump of trees.
 
She was covered by a long waterproof poncho.

After several minutes of slow and methodical searching, the image of recent impact damage to a distant tree filled the transit scope view-field.
 
After activating the transit’s laser beam and setting the beam-point on the damaged area, she began calling out instructions to a Ranger who relayed them to the naval chief.

As Narusan began to climb the tree, Achara followed his progress with the scope.
 
At the first impact point, she watched him pull out a belt knife and begin digging at the damaged area.
 
Then, a few moments later, he held something up in his hand.

“Captain Kulawnit,” Narusan found a bullet,” the communications Ranger reported.

Smiling tiredly, Achara pushed the laser-transit aside and reached for her cell phone.

CHAPTER 31

San Francisco International Airport

The Eva Airways flight from Bangkok via Taipei was scheduled to land at San Francisco International Airport at three-forty-five in the afternoon; but the ever-unpredictable San Francisco fog had already forced the controllers in the tower to shut down one of the too-close-together SFO runways once that morning — thereby delaying and diverting landings — and it looked like the fog might be rolling in again at any moment.

“I should have had her land in Seattle,” Bulatt said into his cell phone.
 
“If things get any worse out here, they’re either going to have her plane circling for an hour, or diverted to another airport.”

“I suggested that to her, Pete Younger said, “but the storm fronts in the northwest are growing in strength, which could have made SEA-TAC a worse choice.
 
And, in any case, the airport switch would have added at least another eight hours to her flying and ground times, and she wasn’t willing to wait that long.
 
She’s very anxious to get that bullet and cartridge case they found scanned into your NIBIN system.
 
A very stubborn young woman. Reminds me a great deal of her father.”

“Speaking of whom, is there any more word on his condition?”

“Still in critical but stable condition, as before,” Younger said.
 
“The bullet that pierced the side of his vest is lodged against his heart and aorta, and the surgeons are reluctant to go after it.
 
If they can keep the internal bleeding stopped, they want to wait and go back in later when he’s stronger.”

“How’s Achara taking it?
 
Did she say?” Bulatt asked, saddened by the vision of his Interpol friend lying helpless in an ICU ward.

“She’s convinced her father is strong, and that he will survive.
 
She sounded groggy, and with bloody good reason.
 
I understand she and the Chief spent the entire night digging through rainforest mud and vegetation at their two Phuket crime scenes; and that she only had a few hours to clean up, fly back to Bangkok, pack and get to the airport in time to catch her flight.”

Bulatt looked down at his watch.
 
“That was a little over seventeen hours ago.
 
I’m not sure if she’s still fourteen hours ahead of us out here, time-zone-wise; or if a few hours of sleep on a plane, over a forty-eight hour period, actually re-sets her body-clock back to zero.”

Younger laughed.
 
“If you ever manage to figure that out, bloody well let me know. I’m guessing she’s going to be tired and grumpy when she finally lands; and in no mood to put up with anything that further delays her arrival to your forensics lab.”

“Good point.”
 
Bulatt looked out the window at the gradually moving fog bank.
 
“As things stand right now, we’re looking at a three-hour delay for our connecting flight to Medford.
 
I think I’m going to make other arrangements.”

*
   
*
   
*

The International Terminal, San Francisco Airport — Customs and Immigration Arrivals

Captain Achara Kulawnit waited behind the designated line until the Customs Officer — a heavyset man in his late fifties with long graying hair combed back over his ears and a healthy paunch threatening the lower buttons on his white Custom’s shirt — motioned her forward.

“Welcome to the United States,” he said as he accepted her passport, opened it, compared her fatigued but still exquisite facial features against the photo imbedded in the passport, and then ran the open-faced document across his scanner.
 
“Are you here for business or pleasure?”