The Huntsman (2 page)
Authors: Rafael
Still
bent, a long, slender tongue flickered from its beak. Underneath, a narrow tube
opened. Clear, molasses-like fluid oozed out to spread across Joshua’s face. He
had to be dreaming. Joshua smiled and closed his eyes. They never opened again.
Eight months ago they’d confirmed her pregnancy and now step by
careful step Betty made her way to the shallow pool. Instinct directed her to
the water that would buoy her ponderous bulk. Hands clasped prayer-like to her
chest, Miranda Logan watched. Despite having no children, she knew what mothers
everywhere endured as their daughters entered the throes of birth. How many
times had she seen the wonder of females granting life? The miracle of
continuance belonged only to them.
A stoic and calm Betty lowered herself into the water. Pride and
love swelled Miranda’s heart. She turned to smile and wink at the equally
anxious three-member veterinarian team beside her. Together they stood fifty
yards away behind a hedge line in the Columbus Zoological Park’s Africa Wilds
section.
Greg Dawson, reporter for the Columbus Dispatch leaned over to
whisper. “Does it ever get old?” Miranda shook her head. Thick, wavy, shoulder
length hair swirled around her face. Except for the flame-red color, she wore
it like a lion’s mane. Grammar school terrorists had nicknamed her Medusa. But
when she returned from summer recess to start her high school junior year,
tongue-tied adolescents could only cast furtive glances at the stunner walking
the halls.
“I’m so nervous I could pee.” A giggle almost escaped but only
squabbling birds broke the silence. For two days this section had remained
closed. Despite the CEO’s not so gentle reminders of the revenue losses, Betty
needed a calm and peaceful environment. Miranda had long established she would
not allow him to tattoo dollar signs on the animals. Besides, San Diego had
committed $200,000. They wanted a healthy calf to insure their hippo herd’s
gene pool remained robust.
“How much longer?” Greg asked.
“Any minute. She’s agitated. Her turning is meant to clear the
water of any debris or fish. You can see her water broke. Part of the placenta
is dangling from her rump. Betty bent her legs to lie down. Water lapped
against her flanks and submerged her rear. She seemed to heave and gulp for
air. Sealable nostrils exhaled two loud snorts. The water behind her roiled
then turned red. Miranda held her breath. An eternity passed before a miniature
hippo surfaced to take its first breath. Ears wiggled with the fierceness of
rotor blades. Sounding like two furnace bellows, water sprayed from its
nostrils.
Betty rose to her feet. All her attention focused on the newborn
swimming underwater, rapidly acclimating to an aquatic life. Any sign of
trouble and Betty lowered her huge snout to give her calf a gentle nudge. An
almost painful joy surged through Miranda’s heart. Greg’s arm draped her
shoulders. He loved her deeply but it remained unrequited. Miranda’s
girlfriends thought her crazy to rebuff the kind and handsome journalist’s
advances. She allowed herself to lean against him then pulled out a tissue to
dab tear-filled eyes. The vets beamed broadly and offered congratulations.
Miranda straightened from under his arm, turned toward the nearby handlers.
“Let’s give Betty plenty of space and time. Right now, she’ll be
territorial and protective of her calf. Remain alert. Clean her pen only when
she’s in the pool.” Miranda raised her head at the sight of two interns and a
security guard racing toward them.
“Dr. Logan, Dr. Logan. Ben’s got Ashley trapped in his pen. She’s
hurt. Maybe bad.” Fear drained the color from Miranda’s face. Every day she
stressed the importance of safety and the need to follow procedures. In Africa,
hippos claimed more human lives than any other animal, including lions and
elephants. She’d noted Ben’s change in behavior since isolating him from Betty,
had visited him daily to provide comfort and reassurance. The guard stopped
panting long enough to double her fear.
“EMT’s are on the way and I notified the police.”
She broke for the indoor enclosure and quickly outpaced everyone
rushing behind her. She continued past the Hippo-Drome’s plaza and entrance to
the rear service area where a small crowd milled about. Security cleared a path
for her. “Did you evacuate everyone?” The head guard nodded. Miranda turned to
the arriving handlers. “Wait for me here. Don’t come in unless I call you.” She
noted Greg’s look of terror and turned before it infected her confidence. With
a soft whoosh, the door closed behind her. The normally boisterous interior
made its silence eerie. She padded toward Ben’s stall and began to sing in a
low, soothing voice.
Rock-a-bye baby,
in the tree top
When the wind
blows the cradle will rock.
When the bough
breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all.
A 3.96 GPA had brought her to the zoo as a fresh-faced twenty-year
old sophomore from the mountains of western North Carolina where she studied at
Mars
Hill College. That the college represented the country’s preeminent and most
rigorous academy for zoological study, made the grade achievement more
impressive. All pregnant mothers, even hippos, warranted special treatment and
her summer internship’s arduous duties included removing gigantic poop from
wherever Ben’s mom dropped it. Three days after her arrival, Ben’s mother went
into labor and died during birth. The event so traumatized an idealistic
intern, it brought tears whenever a mother survived an offspring’s delivery.
A desperate race to keep the orphan alive began. One after
another, the herd’s nursing cows rejected the infant in favor of their own
calves. Unwilling to chance a defensive mother killing Ben, the staff pooled
their Arts and Crafts skills to cobble together a makeshift hippo dummy. They
hoped the fake river horse would prevent Ben imprinting on a human. Miranda had
to lie inside a hot, immobile, laughable replica through which her gloved hand
held a bottle for Ben to feed.
But plastic, aluminum, cloth, and paint stood no chance against
sixty million years of sensory evolution. Ben studiously ignored his foster
mother until Miranda crawled inside. If she came within fifty yards, Ben began
bellowing and paralleled her movements from within the enclosure. In her
absence, he remained motionless in the pool. Only his eyes and nostrils jutting
from the surface revealed his location. If the other calves tried to frolic,
he’d just move away.
Summer’s end brought her before the Director and managing staff to
avert another crisis. “You know as well as I, hippo calves wean for up to
eighteen months. Ben has defeated all your attempts to prevent what has
happened. He won’t feed from anyone else. To leave him after just two months
would be cruel beyond description. Are your rules so precious you’ll accept an
emotionally and psychologically damaged animal rather than violate them? Rules
are not laws. They serve as guidelines until prudence and good judgment dictate
the need to break them.”
Against all procedures, precedents, and training the Director
relented. After a phone call from him, the Mars Hill Dean of Academics agreed
to arrange for Miranda to continue her studies remotely and the zoo’s managing
staff volunteered to mentor her through the challenging coursework. When she
returned for her senior year, Ben had outgrown his cousins and if not exactly
an extrovert, tolerated their bonding attempts when he joined them for a swim.
Six years passed before she returned with a PhD in hand and a firm employment
offer as Deputy Director for Animal Care.
She shook her head. All that schooling meant nothing. In a few
more feet,
Organismal
Biology, Chordate Anatomy, or Vertebrate Taxonomy would be useless against a
two-ton animal that could crush her with a swipe of its head, trample her
underfoot, or slice her in half with its foot-long incisors.
Miranda continued singing the lullaby Ben had always heard as a
calf drifting off to dreamland. At his stall, the open gate to the pool area
stood as mute testimony to a procedure horribly violated. Ashley lay on the
ground covered in straw only feet from a rock-still Ben whose ears had flipped
backward to track Miranda’s approach. She gave his rump a strong pat and
stroked her hand along his flanks as she moved closer to his massive head.
“Easy, Ben. Easy, Ben. Easy, Ben.” He blasted a snort and shifted his weight
but otherwise remained calm. Miranda scratched his ear and continued her slow
approach to the prone Ashley.
She squatted next to the terrified intern who moved to speak but Miranda
hushed her with an index finger to the lips. Her neck hairs stood on end. How
would Ben react when she tried to move Ashley out the pen? “Are you having
trouble breathing?” Ashley nodded. “You probably have a few broken ribs and I’m
sure your arm is broken. I know you’re in a lot of pain, but you’re going to
have to be brave for me, Ashley. Can you do that?” Ashley squeezed the tears
from her eyes and nodded again.
Behind them Ben snorted and shuffled his feet. Miranda turned,
horrified eyes widened. Three policemen with rifles raised and cocked entered
the pen area. Miranda strained not to scream. “Easy, Ben. Easy, Ben. Easy,
Ben.” She rose slowly to move between the police and the hippo. She spread her
arms and legs wide in a protective stance. “Easy, Ben.” She maintained the same
low sing-song but changed the lyrics. “Get out of here. Get out of here. Get
out of here. You’re endangering my intern. Get out of here. Get out of here.”
Her calm, soothing voice belied the determined fierceness blazing from her
eyes. With Miranda between them and the target, the officers recognized their
impasse and backed away. Miranda felt her knees go weak. She returned to her
intern.
“You have to stand up, Ashley. I will help you but it’s going to
hurt like hell. You have to be strong and not make a sound. I know you can do
it, Ashley. Are you ready?” She bit her lip and nodded.” Miranda gripped the
hand and shoulder of her good arm. “Here we go. One, two, three.”
The young girl’s mouth opened. For a moment Miranda thought she
would scream and startle the hippo. She struggled to her feet in obvious agony
but made no sound. Miranda guided her out. Ben made no move.
Outside, the zoo’s gathered staff broke into cheers and applause.
While the EMT’s placed Ashley on a gurney and loaded her into the ambulance,
Miranda gave instructions to secure the pen area. She waited for the medics to
finish stabilizing her intern then clambered in. Miranda brushed a hair from
Ashley’s forehead, smiled, and held her hand. Before the rear door closed, Greg
and the cameraman rushed up. “Smile. You’re going to be a front-page hero.” She
glowered at him.
Clifford
Easton pulled his glasses farther down his patrician nose, flipped past the
Miranda-Logan-splashed front page. Inside, the Columbus Dispatch had even
recounted her exploits as a young intern, hyped with several photos of her
precious hippo. Already something of a celebrity since that incident, now she
had become a star. He grudgingly admitted the publicity had to be a net
positive for the zoo but would also make dealing with her more difficult. A
sigh accompanied the page turn. A deeper one escaped when it revealed more
stories detailing the rescue. His eyes rolled at every mention of heroic.
Not
for the first time he railed against his predecessor who’d given her free rein
to do as she pleased. Her continued defiance made for a public safety
lawsuit-in-waiting and undermined his authority. This incident only confirmed a
ticking time bomb worked on his staff. She spared no opportunity to ignore his
directives but not in an insubordinate, disrespectful way. She listened
politely, promised compliance, pledged her support, and then ignored him. Her
many friends on the zoo’s advisory board maintained a protective blanket over
their star zoologist but he smiled at the thought manna had just dropped from
heaven.
“Mr.
Easton, your 2pm, Dr. Logan, is here.” Clifford pressed his intercom.
“Thank
you, Pam. Send her in please.
Outside,
Pam smiled at Miranda and whispered conspiratorially. “I cheer when you stand
up to his crap. He’s such an arrogant jerk.”
“It’s
not hard. His gender limits him.” Pam stifled a giggle and buzzed her in.
“Good
afternoon, Dr. Logan. You look none the worse for wear after your heroic
exploits. Congratulations.”
“Thank
you, Clifford. Work keeping you up late?” Easton sighed.
“It
never ends. Solve one problem and another pops up. Speaking of which, have you
determined how that hippo entered a stall with a staff member inside?”
“Ashley’s
going to be fine, thank you. As it turns out, someone entered a wrong time on
the maintenance schedule. The computer flashed a message the gate needed
opening and the on-duty technician pressed Ok. I’ve ordered an immediate
suspension of all electronic monitoring and my two deputies are re-implementing
the old manual system.”
Clifford
maintained an outward calm but seethed inside. “Shouldn’t you have consulted me
before making changes to a system the zoo spent $4 million implementing?”
“Well,
as you indicated, you’re up late with one problem after another. I thought
you’d welcome my easing your workload.” Easton stared at her.
“Dr.
Logan. You cannot conduct your affairs as if you’re running an independent
operation.”
“I’m
working as part of a team. When each member does the job they’re responsible
for, the entire team benefits.” Easton stared at her.
“We
have a chain of command here, Dr. Logan. It exists to facilitate two-way
communication.”
“I
can see how my actions might be interpreted as undercutting the chain of command.
I do apologize, Clifford. I assure you I had no such intention.”
Easton
leaned back in his chair and allowed a smile to grow. “I’m placing you on paid
administrative leave effective three days from now. The Central Intelligence
Agency specifically requested your services. The country has need of your
skills. I didn’t think you’d object.” Easton almost squirmed with pleasure. She
couldn’t very well ask why he hadn’t consulted her.
“Were
they afraid to ask me themselves?”
“They
tried, Dr. Logan. Apparently you don’t return calls from anyone not on your
contact list. The CIA Director had to call his friend at the San Diego Zoo who
in turn called me. In fact,” Easton glanced at his watch, “two agency
representatives should be here any moment to meet you.”
“I
don’t know anything about the CIA or national security. That’s why we elect
Presidents. Suppose I refuse?”
“Dr.
Logan. This is a high profile situation. My friend impressed upon me the urgent
need to cooperate. I’m a San Diego native. It’s been my ambition to become
Director of its zoo. My friend will be retiring soon and a letter of
recommendation from him would go a long way to making it a reality. If I do,
it’s a foregone conclusion you will assume the directorship and then run
Columbus any way you want. So you see, Dr. Logan—Miranda—we’re in bed together.
Might as well enjoy it.”
Miranda
sat rock quiet, her expression inscrutable. That’s why he had “volunteered”
her. He couldn’t afford a refusal. She still might. Miranda leaned back in the
chair, crossed her legs. A cobra-like smile grew. “Do not presume, Mr. Easton,
our interests intertwine. My only priorities are the animals under my care. If
and when the directorship becomes an ambition, time is on my side.” The
intercom buzzed.
“Your
2:30 is here, Mr. Easton. A Ms. Fran Dawkins and a Mr. Bob Cross.”
“Thank
you, Pam. Please send them in.”
Both
rose, curious who might enter. What did would not have passed a Hollywood
casting director’s scrutiny. The two wore blue, nondescript, inexpensive suits.
Looks or attire, neither presented a memorable appearance. Clifford conducted
the introductions and bade them sit. Cross declined anything to drink. Dawkins
asked for water. Miranda followed suit. Clifford buzzed Pam for the
refreshments and a cup of coffee. When she exited, Clifford nodded toward the
case officers. Cross turned to Miranda.
“First
off, Dr. Logan, let me say not only are your credentials impressive, but
everyone we contacted acknowledged you as the country’s preeminent zoologist.”
Clifford almost rolled his eyes. “We’re very grateful to have you onboard.”
“Thank
you, Mr. Cross, but let me make it clear I haven’t agreed or disagreed to
anything yet.” Clifford shot her a look. Cross nodded toward his partner.
Dawkins reached into a briefcase and pulled out a folder. She extracted a
photograph and passed it to Miranda.
“Can
you recognize the bird that made this print, Dr. Logan?” Miranda barely glanced
at it before handing it back.
“It’s
a fraud.”
“Why
do you say that?”
“Generally
speaking, birds have four toes. Their habitat dictates the arrangement.
Perching birds have three pointing forward and one backward enabling them to
grasp a limb or branch. Woodpeckers also have four but two point forward and
two backward permitting them to move around a tree trunk forward, backward, or
sideways. Wading and water birds will leave a four-toed print, three forward
one back but water birds will also have webbing between the toes. Ground or
flightless birds, like chickens, will leave a three-toed print because the fourth,
while present, is high on the foot and will leave no print or has atrophied.
The only exception is the ostrich which has a two-toed print. No bird has two
toes pointing forward and one back.”
Dawkins
passed her another photo. “What can you tell us about this one? It showed two
prints in stride. One had a ruler next to it indicating 21”. Miranda did a
quick calculation. “Again some kind of fraud or prank. A bird with this stride
would be six to seven feet tall and weigh, I’m guessing here but it’s a good
one, three to four hundred pounds.”
“Would
you comment on this gene sequence?” Miranda took a little longer to study it.
Puzzled at first, understanding dawned. She handed the document back.
“The
platform that performed this DNA sequence must have malfunctioned. All gene
expressions result from the four letters ACTG: adenine, cytosine, thymine, and
guanine. There is nothing in the scientific literature suggesting the existence
of a fifth.”
“Would
you take a look at this photo, please? And I do apologize, Dr. Logan, but it’s
important.” Miranda gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. A nude man hung
from a wall with his face pressed sideways against it. Somehow pasted to the
shoulder blades, left arm to right and right arm to left, the crudely severed limbs
pointed upward, but the forearms, bent at the elbow pointed out and down. The
arrangement formed a bizarre image of a winged man. Miranda’s temper flared.
“This has to be some type of sick prank. What is the meaning of all this?”
“I
appreciate this may be somewhat disturbing, Dr. Logan, but we are trying to
answer that very question. Take a look at this photo.” It showed the man in
close up relief. He appeared Asian. Given the obvious violence endured, he had
a peaceful expression. The skin on his face’s left side, stretched by the
hanging weight, appeared glued to a clear substance. Dawkins followed up. “The
clear material you see is what produced the DNA report. We performed three
separate sequences on three separate machines. The results remained identical.”
Miranda’s
curiosity spiked. She returned to the photo showing a stride. “What is the
substance surrounding these prints?”
“The
victim’s blood. We believe the person responsible for his gruesome mutilation
shot him twice in the chest and once in the head. It’s uncertain if he was
still alive when something removed his arms. I say something because the
strength needed to manually tear off arms is tremendous.”
“If
this is not a prank then you have a sick, deranged killer on your hands with a
twisted symbology. Why do you need me? A detective would better serve your
purposes.”
“Perhaps.
But a psychopathic killer does not explain the DNA. We’re trying to be
thorough. If you can rule a creature out and leave us with a deranged killer,
we can move forward.”
Miranda
paused. The case certainly intrigued her scientific curiosity. That she
couldn’t remember her last vacation also made a strong argument. And an
Easton-free Columbus would be a life improvement. “Why is the CIA involved in
this case?” Dawkins cleared her throat.
“Although
the National Science Foundation administered Dr. Ang’s research grant, the
project in fact was under our aegis. He knew nothing of our involvement. It’s
something we often do to avail ourselves of scientific advances while keeping
the type and extent confidential. Our goal was to use Dr. Ang’s expertise in
quantum encryption to enclose our information systems. Given the circumstances,
the possibility exists we have an internal security breach. Dr. Ang may have
made an encryption breakthrough some individual, group, or country thought it
worth murdering him over. The ghastly method may simply be to throw us off.”
Miranda nodded.
“Still,
as you indicated, neither of our theories explains the DNA report.” She made up
her mind. “I’ll need a couple days to get my affairs in order.” Cross broke in.
“With
all due respect, Dr. Logan, the national security implications mean time is of
the essence. You do not have children, pets, or plants. We will insure your
scheduled payments are made including rent and utilities.”
“Rent?
You expect me to be gone a month?”
“We’re
just being thorough.” Dawkins replied. Cross reached into his jacket. “This is
an unrestricted credit card with your name on it. We’ll escort you home to
retrieve immediate necessities, but including travel and meals, you have
complete discretion to purchase anything you feel necessary. And of course, our
agency will reimburse the zoo in full for your salary.”
Miranda
spread her arms palms up. “Okay. Let’s go retrieve my immediate necessities.
Before they exited, a chime sounded from within Cross’ jacket. His grim
expression turned grimmer as he scanned the communicator’s display.
“I’m
afraid you’re leaving on the first flight to Hawaii, Dr. Logan. We’ll arrange
for your pickup on arrival.” He turned the screen toward her. On a wall two men
hung naked, their severed arms pasted to their shoulder blades. Fear, genuine
fear stabbed her heart. Yesterday she had entered an angry hippo’s stall. Today
she had agreed to help pursue a homicidal maniac. The ground beneath her no
longer seemed sure. She reached for her bag.
“Dr.
Logan.” Miranda turned toward Clifford. “Good luck. Don’t worry about Ben.” She
nodded, managed a weak, hesitant smile. The three exited the office.