Yeti

by Richard Edde

  Gang nodded and sauntered off to where the horses were hobbled.

  “Kurt,” Doyle said, “this is where you start earning your pay. Go take care of Gang. And do it quietly.”

  Kurt smiled and left to join Gang who was adjusting the saddles. Doyle watched as Kurt put an arm around Gang, led him behind a section of rocks, and disappeared from view. There were muffled sounds of a brief struggle then stillness, after which Kurt rejoined the group.

  “Never uttered a sound,” he said. “Just smiled at me and the knife.”

  “We’ll cover him with rocks in the morning,” Doyle said. “Right now, we’ve got a job to do down there.” He pointed in the direction of the expedition site.

  “No need to cover him,” Kurt said, sporting a broad grin. “I threw him down a deep ravine. No one will find him, trust me.”

  “What’s the plan, Ben?” Gillum said.

  Doyle looked at his second-in-command, studying the deep lines etched in the man’s face. Riley Gillum was a study in contrasts--tough but smart, outwardly quiet but possessing an analytical mind that worked incessantly, calculating options, weighing percentages. He had a muscular build, as all of Doyle’s men did, dark curly hair, and deep-set eyes. He had been a navy SEAL and, as a member of Operation Urgent Fury, participated in the invasion of the island of Granada. A chance for the United States to flex its military muscles after Vietnam, Gillum had said. After his wife divorced him for her boyfriend, he began drinking heavily and was separated from the navy. He tried his hand at law enforcement but found that chasing petty criminals wasn’t his cup of tea, eventually meeting up with Doyle at a gun range in Pennsylvania. The two men hit it off and, when Doyle took Eastwood’s job offer, his first recruit was Gillum. The man had no social life that Doyle knew of, no women or steady girlfriend, just played video games alone in his apartment until the wee hours of morning. But Gillum was rock steady. Doyle trusted the man with his life.

  “Time to break out the weapons. We’ll go in and find this Dr. Olson. Once we have him, we force him to give us what we came for. I will interrogate the doctor. The rest of you will keep the compound secured. Believe me, he’ll hand over whatever it is they have found. Remember, we don’t shoot first. Let’s get moving. It’ll be daylight soon.”

  Doyle grabbed a Persuader shotgun while Gillum and Kurt each slung an M-16 over a shoulder. Marley brought up the rear with the BAR. The group slogged single-file over rocky terrain then entered the steppe grassland, leaving them exposed. Doyle hoped the sentries were still asleep at their posts. From his vantage point, the expedition site was quiet, the early kitchen crew not having awakened for the day. Crouching low and maneuvering at a trot, they made their way to the compound’s edge and halted behind one of the larger tents. With no moon overhead, they created no shadows to betray their arrival. Darkness lay over the compound like a black velvet blanket, while only the occasional chirps of a few crickets pierced the night.

  Doyle peered around the tent. Two men sat at a small table at the far side of the row of tents. Security, most likely. He signaled Kurt and Gillum to capture and disarm the two men. They disappeared from view as they rounded the corner of a tent filled with tables and chairs.

  Doyle waited with Marley, pulse pounding in his neck. He fought to bring his breathing under control. Waiting in a semi-crouched position caused Doyle’s back to ache. His brain pleaded to get moving and relieve the pain now shooting into his legs. After what seemed an interminable length of time, the two men returned and shot Doyle a thumbs up.

  Following Doyle’s hand signals, the group spread out through the compound and began to search each tent. Ten minutes later, Doyle heard Gillum’s whistle and ran to the central clearing, where he found the man pointing his M-16 at a young Asian. Kurt and Marley joined them in short order.

  “Man’s name is Cheng.” Gillum said, pushing the man to his knees with the barrel of his rifle. “Says he’s the foreman on the digging. Says the doctor is not here.”

  Doyle walked up to the man as a small crowd of workers began milling about, all talking, some crying.

  “You speak English?”

  The man shrugged.

  “So, where’s your leader?” Doyle said.

  The man stared at the ground in silence.

  “I’ll ask just once more, young man. Where is Doctor Olson?”

  “Gone,” came Cheng’s hesitant reply.

  “For the last time, gone where?” Doyle pumped the Persuader shotgun he was carrying, pushing a shell into its chamber with a loud clack. The sound made Cheng jump.

  “He and the woman went to Tenduk monastery. Two days ago.”

  “What have you all been digging for up here?”

  Again quiet.

  “And what have you found?”

  “An airplane and a few bones, that is all.”

  “An airplane?” Doyle’s voice rose in pitch.

  “Over there,” Cheng said and pointed in the direction of the foothills.

  “An airplane? Really? What kind of an airplane?”

  The man remained silent.

  Doyle smiled and pointed at Gillum. “Riley, you and Kurt go check out what he’s talking about.”

  After the men left, Doyle returned his attention to Cheng. More of a crowd had gathered and Marley paraded back and forth around them, brandishing the BAR.

  Doyle couldn’t believe the expedition workers’ unwillingness to cooperate. They appeared to be waiting for a chance to overpower his men. One false move and Doyle knew there would be a blood bath, initiated by Kurt--something that neither he nor Eastwood wanted. His men were battle-hardened veterans with mostly level heads but if Kurt killed one of the workers, Doyle feared a slaughter would result. He concentrated on a calm voice and slow movements.

  “Now, Mr. Cheng, why did the doctor go to this monastery?”

  Cheng shook his head. “I do not know for sure. It had something to do with the bones we dug up, I think. Please, mister, do not kill us. We are but simple workers here. We know nothing.”

  “I believe you, Cheng. We aren’t going to kill you. We are not monsters, after all.” Turning to Marley, Doyle continued. “I’m going to see what this plane business is about. I want you to go back and bring up the horses. After we eat, we’re going to find this monastery.

  Chapter 14

  A disturbed Professor Kesler sat alone in his office and looked out over the calm waters of the San Francisco Bay. It was a bright day and there were many boats on the water, but the idyllic scene did not match his mood. He had tried numerous times unsuccessfully to reach Harry on the satellite phone and over the satellite video conference caller. Each time there was no answer. The time difference made things difficult, as the research site was fifteen hours ahead of Pacific Time. He had risen earlier than usual and gone to bed much later in the last two days, in an effort to reach his colleague, but was unable to do so.

  Earlier in the day, he had attempted to work, trying in vain to concentrate on a talk he was scheduled to give on human evolution the following month. He was upset. Not being able to reach Harry, after the threat on his life, caused bile to spill out of his stomach and into his throat. His hands trembled as he thumbed through the papers before him, his mind unable to focus. So he had put the speech in a drawer, reviewed Dr. Rawlings’s DNA data from her sequencer, and compared them once again to his notes. As his brain calmed, he was able to process the data but, once again, the result was the same. Unmistakable. The DNA sequence of the bones did not match the human genome nor what they knew of the Neanderthal genome. He checked and rechecked, but the answer always came up the same. The bones did not match any known DNA sequence. This meant it had the potential to be a very big discovery, but he could not savor the moment. Not while he couldn’t locate Harry.

  He was worried--no, in fact, he was afraid. It was unlike Harry to be out of touch for so long a time. Usually, they communicated every two days, if nothing more than a hello and an update from each other. But
now it had been three days and Harry did not answer his calls. To make matters worse, Kesler had not heard from the police and he feared something might have happened to Harry. The men who kidnapped him had been deathly serious and, for all Kesler knew, Harry could be dead. Whomever was behind it seemed to think the scientists had stumbled onto something worth killing for. But, Christ, it was only the beginning of the scientific work. The inadvertent religious slur didn’t make him smile. It might take many months before they developed a workable hypothesis explaining the significance of the uncovered bones. And there might still be more discoveries to come. Who could tell? It all might amount to nothing. He thought of calling Dr. Rawlings, thinking that to hear her cheerful voice would take his mind off his worries, but as he picked up the phone, he thought better of it. She was busy and she had done him an enormous favor by running the DNA analysis on the Mongolian specimens. He might call her later in the evening.

  Kesler stood, clasped his hands together, looked out at the waters again, and quietly recited the first lines of the prayer that was the centerpiece of Jewish daily life, the Shema. As a boy, he’d learned that, according to the Talmud, the reading of the Shema morning and evening fulfilled the commandment, You shall meditate, therein, day and night. He had said the prayer each night before sleeping:

  Sh’ma Yis’ra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad.

  Barukh sheim k’vod malkhuto l’olam va’ed.

  Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God,

  the Lord is One!

  Blessed be the Name of His

  glorious kingdom for ever and ever.

  Sitting once more at his desk, he picked up the telephone and dialed the number for the satellite phone.

  ***

  The afternoon sunlight was fading as Harry, Dixie, Li, and Jing trekked into the village of Tenduk and kicked their horses up the small knoll to the monastery. The mountains of Belukha and Kuitan framed the rounded hill upon which the monastery had been built centuries earlier. Jing led them up the knoll to the temple, where they dismounted then climbed a short series of steps to a pair of heavy, oaken doors. The crisp, thin air formed a thin layer of haze that obscured the lower elevations of the mountain peaks.

  While Harry and Dixie waited on their horses, Li followed Jing to the temple doors but, before either of them could knock, they opened.

  A short, roundish man in a brown robe emerged and greeted the pair with an impish gleam. He bowed slightly at the waist and spread his arms in a warm welcome. “Namasta, travelers. You look weary. Please come in, all of you.”

  “You speak English, great,” Harry said from atop Mouse.

  “But, of course,” said the man in the brown robe. “We have studied the language here for many years. And we are no longer removed from the rest of the world.”

  So you say, thought Harry, as he and Dixie dismounted and followed the man into the temple behind Jing and Li.

  Inside, the roundish man turned and smiled. “My name is Bo Zhing, the abbot of Tenduk monastery. I welcome you in the name of Buddha. May I offer you some tea?”

  “That would be very nice, Mr. Zhing, thank you,” Jing said.

  “Then please follow me,” Zhing said.

  He turned and strolled through a side door to the large temple room. The group followed the monk through the temple and into a smaller room, which was located at the end of a narrow hall.

  In a corner stood a small antique stove with a large copper kettle. A small wooden table with several wicker-style chairs sat in the room’s center. The room was very warm.

  “Please, sit here,” Zhing said, offering the chairs. He made his way to the stove, poured tea into mugs, and brought them to the table. “What brings you to Tenduk? Are you trekking tourists?”

  Harry shot a glance at Jing and, when she did not answer, he spoke. “Hardly, sir. We are part of a scientific expedition from down on the steppe. We are searching for early human skeletal remains. I am Dr. Harry Olson from California. This is Dixie Zinn also from California. Li Chao there is our guide and foreman, and Jing Wu brought us here.”

  “Scientists,” Zhing said as more of a statement than a question. “How wonderful. You are anthropologists studying human evolution?”

  “Yes,” Harry said. “We hope to advance scientific understanding of how humans got to North America from Africa.”

  Zhing smiled broadly. “But, Doctor, through Mongolia, of course. I thought that was all settled.”

  Harry returned the abbot’s smile and gestured with a hand. “Yes, but it is the details that we seek. And specimens. Any specimens can only serve to augment our understanding.”

  Zhing nodded but remained silent, as if contemplating Harry’s answer.

  “Jing,” Harry continued, “told us about a certain skull you have here, one from a wild man, a Yeti. We would like your permission to examine it, if possible.”

  Zhing appeared taken aback by the request, visibly startled. He sipped his tea for a while then stood. “You must be tired from your journey. Of course, you will stay the night as guests of the monastery. We find the quiet very refreshing and spiritual. And you will eat with us later, meet the other monks. And after the meal, if there is time, we shall discuss your request. But, for now, let’s get you to your rooms where you can rest before dinner.”

  Zhing stood and clapped his hands. A small boy in western dress appeared. The abbot stooped and whispered into the child’s ear. He grinned and started out the door.

  “Please,” Zhing said. “Cam will see you to your rooms and will call for you in about an hour for dinner. There is water in the rooms so you can clean up. We will attend to your animals, so please don’t worry. I will see you later.”

  With that, Zhing turned and disappeared from the room. The group hurried to catch up with Cam.

  Later, after dinner, Zhing was nowhere to be seen. Pu Yang, the senior lama, took Harry aside and addressed Zhing’s absence. “He does not think it wise to allow you access to the Yeti skull. Its existence is not well known outside our monastery,” he said in a mild-mannered voice. He tugged at his robe as he spoke. “He wishes that it remain so. The abbot believes that the Yeti is a figment of one’s imagination. According to him, it does not exist. Our educated young people scoff at the possibility, but our elders know better. Many have seen the creature. Many have seen its footprints.”

  “It’s not a matter of believing or not believing, Senior Lama,” Harry said. Most everyone had left the dining hall except for Dixie, Li, and Jing. Only a few novice monks were left to clean the tables. “We are scientists. We wish to examine the skull, that is all. I doubt we can confirm its authenticity up here.”

  “I don’t even know why we still have it,” Yang said. “The outside world is largely unaware of its existence. If you think it could be helpful--”

  “If you choose to not let us examine it, that is your choice. It will be fine. We will not trouble you further. However, we have trekked for several days with the hope of examining it, so if it can be arranged, I promise you, we will not make a political event of it. It would be extremely useful to take measurements of it and make a drawing of it.”

  Yang took Harry’s arm and guided him down the hallway. Halfway to the end of it he stopped. “I will do what I can to change the abbot’s mind. I am senior to him, you know, so my wishes carry a lot of weight around here.” He laughed and his gray eyes twinkled. “I will let you know tomorrow after morning vespers. Now, I bid you a restful night in Buddha’s name.”

  ***

  Dixie was alone in her room. A small kerosene lamp filled the space with a soft light. The room, at the end of a short hallway in the monastery dormitory, was spartan with only a bed, small wooden desk, and straight-back chair in the way of furnishings. Upon returning to the room after dinner, she noticed someone had replenished the pitcher with fresh water. The bed was firm, almost hard, and, as Dixie tried to rest, she could not get comfortable. She closed her eyes and tried to relax but sleep would not come, for her
mind was on the events of the past two days. And on Harry.

  He had called her honey. They had exchanged secrets. She had revealed dark mistakes that no one at the university knew, and he had accepted it. Just accepted that her past sins were just that--past.

  Her pulse quickened.

  Why did she feel this way? She thought it crazy but he made her knees weak. She trembled around him. Oh, not so much that it was noticeable, but enough that she felt unsure of herself in his presence. She felt awkward. It had not been so back at the university or initially in Mongolia--only since he had called her honey. So her view of her world had changed in the last few days, changed in a more complicated way. Could she continue to work with him and keep that professional distance necessary in a professor-student relationship? He was vital to her obtaining her doctorate and, if she mishandled the situation, it might spell disaster for her. He seemed not to realize his effect on her, continuing his professional demeanor around her. She hoped she could remain as professional as Harry.

  She took a deep breath.

  Harry had touched her face. She could still feel his warm fingers on her cheek. Turning over in the bed, she tried again to get comfortable but failed.

  There was a soft knock on her door.

  She opened the door and Harry stood in the doorway.

  His eyes sparkled and he smiled warmly. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No,” she said. “Come in.”

  Dixie closed the door behind Harry, who crossed the room and eased his tall frame into the chair at the desk. “I--I couldn’t sleep either. I hope you don’t mind me coming here. I just wanted to see you.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder and felt the firmness under his shirt. “It’s funny. I was just thinking about you. Then you knocked.”

  “When I spoke of my parents, I’m afraid I presumed too much. I’m sorry if I burdened you unnecessarily. At the time you...I don’t know...you seemed like you cared.”