by Richard Edde
“I do think we should follow them. Like I said, we can’t just leave the guy out here without attempting to find him. Besides, I would love to get a look at this thing, if, indeed, it is some sort of primate or Yeti as Jing insists. What do you think, Jing, are you up to it? I know it’s more than you counted on.”
“It’s a grand adventure, to be sure,” Jing said. “I don’t have any pressing plans at the moment so, yes, I will tag along. But I warn you, I am not familiar with that part of the mountain.” She pointed in the direction of the footprints. “Maybe you can use your satellite phone to call the police in Ulaanbaatar and report that this monk is missing.”
“I think we should wait on that, Jing. After all, we may find him wandering around out there. He could have gotten lost during the night and snowstorm.”
Jing and Dixie nodded in agreement.
“Okay then. Let’s gather our gear and get moving while the weather lasts. No telling when it might start to snow again.”
“Up here at this altitude,” Jing said, “and at this time of year, the weather can change in a matter of a few hours.”
After packing and loading their gear, they followed the strange footprints. Their horses, plodding through the snowpack, blew short breaths of steam from their nostrils. The tracks led in a serpentine fashion higher into the mountains, where, at times, the snow had drifted into three-foot piles, while in other places, tufts of grass poked through only a thin layer of white carpet. When the ground was visible, Harry noticed they were on a narrow trail that continued into a rocky portion of the mountain. The footprints were spaced around four feet apart making the creature, whatever it was, very tall. And heavy, for the prints were sunk deep into the snow.
They crossed a trickle of water that splattered over rocks above them and spewed over the trail. Small tufts of green grass covered the path where the running water melted the snow. Rounding a bend to the north, they began to climb a series of wide step-like tiers that slowed their progress. The horses panted hard and, upon reaching a plateau, they decided to let them rest awhile. The snow was deeper now and the footprints more visible, still leading upward. Jing dismounted and checked everyone’s saddle cinches before the group continued on.
Above the plateau, the going was more difficult, the route steeper. They crept along with Jing leading them past a series of switchbacks and, as they snaked their way higher, Harry wondered where their trek was going to end.
The mountain peaks were closer and loomed menacingly over them like birds of prey, waiting for them to make a mistake. Just one slip. One fall. But they continued upward.
At last, they reached a small clearing and decided to make camp for the night. Daylight was fading and the sky shown in brilliant shades of orange and indigo. They had settled into a routine with Li and Dixie starting a fire, Jing manning the stove, and Harry constructing the lean-to.
That night as the fire crackled, the stars shimmered with the brilliance of large blue-white diamonds. Later, as a yellow moon rose over the basin to the east, the wind died to a light breeze, making for a beautiful night. Dixie sat beside Harry while the group talked of their plans for the future.
“I very much would like to get a master’s degree,” Jing said. “I want to teach at the university. I enjoy teaching children but my dream is to teach at the university I attended. What about you, Li?”
Li laughed. “I have no plans for the future. I like working with the research team because I believe it is important work. And I am well paid. My parents want me to do something useful, like banking or the law. Beyond that, it is, as we Buddhists say, in simply being that I find happiness.”
“A noble calling, to be sure, Li,” Dixie said. “As for me, my plans are to finish my damned dissertation and get my doctorate.”
Jing and Li laughed at Dixie’s wording. Harry didn’t add anything to the conversation. He just stared at the moon and thought of Dixie.
Chapter 17
Arriving in Tenduk, Doyle and his men rode straight to the monastery. They had ridden all night through a snowstorm and he was cold and hungry, his patience for their mission wearing thin. Doyle pounded on the large doors until a small boy opened them. Grabbing the boy by the collar, he demanded to see whomever was in charge of the place.
“Get the boss man here now, boy. And be quick about it.”
He shoved the boy away and watched him dart inside the temple and disappear. He pulled his 9 millimeter pistol from its holster and signaled for Gillum to do the same. The group waited inside the temple doors while Doyle paced about, grumbling.
“What if they’re not here?” asked Marley who, still at the bottom of the steps, held the reins to Doyle’s and Gillum’s horse.
“Then we find out which direction they went and take out after them,” Doyle said, a notable irritation in his voice.
He continued to pace and curse.
A man in a brown robe appeared in the doorway. He bowed. “Namasta, travelers,” he said.
“Stop with that crap,” Doyle said and shoved his pistol in the monk’s face.
The man in the robe recoiled, stumbling, at the sight of the gun.
“Are the Americans here, old man?”
The monk hesitated, shooting furtive glances at Doyle then the men with him. Doyle waved his pistol in front of the man.
“Don’t make me ask again,” he said.
The monk shook his head. “They are not here,” he said. The monk turned to go back inside the temple but Gillum blocked his way.
“Which way did they go?” Doyle asked, continuing the inquisition.
Again the monk shook his head.
Doyle crashed the butt of his pistol into the monk’s forehead causing blood to spurt down the man’s face. He hissed. “Dammit, man. I asked you, which did they go when they left here?”
The monk said nothing. His eyes blinked wildly as they filled with blood.
Doyle noticed the small boy looking beyond the knoll on which the monastery sat to a ridgeline behind the village. The boy pointed in that direction. “They went up that way,” he said.
“Thanks for nothing, old man.” Doyle placed his pistol to the man’s temple and pulled the trigger.
***
The Russian Mi-24 Hind helicopter touched down in the Altai Basin next to the research compound. Captain Stepan bolted onto the steppe under the still-whirling rotors then waited while the rest of his six-man team exited the aircraft. People from the site began gathering around the helicopter, creating a buzz that Stepan could not make out clearly. As the aircraft noise lessened, he noticed a young Mongolian man wave as he approached them.
“My name is Cheng,” he said. “I am the foreman of this research site. What is going on?”
“Good morning,” Stepan said. “I am Captain Stepan of the National Police. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Cheng led Stepan and his men to the command tent and, when everyone was seated around the table, the captain continued. “We are looking for a group of Americans. They may be coming here to disrupt your research. We really don’t know. They may want something you have dug up. Have any strangers showed up here recently?”
“Actually, yes,” said Cheng. “Four men were here several days ago looking for Dr. Olson, our expedition leader. I told them they had gone to Tenduk and they left. They had guns. We were very frightened. Is Dr. Olson okay?”
“That is not known at present. Why was this Dr. Olson going to Tenduk?”
The captain’s men fanned out from the command tent and began searching the compound.
“This is an anthropological research project. We are searching for human ancestors here. Dr. Olson and his assistants went to the monastery in Tenduk to view something related to our research, possibly a skull of some sort. They never confided in me, Captain. I just overheard two of them talking. Earlier in the week, we unearthed a plane and some bones were in it.”
“An airplane? What kind?”
“A Soviet transport plane. I
can take you to it if you like. It’s not far from the compound.”
“Have you reported this to the defense ministry?”
“I believe Dr. Olson was going to do that, yes. I do not know if he has done so, however. May I offer you and your men some tea, Captain?”
“That would be nice, thank you. We will be going soon. I wish to be at this monastery before dark but I want to see this crash site before I leave.”
After tea, Cheng led Stepan to the hole containing the Soviet airplane. The captain scrambled through the battered wreckage before returning empty-handed. “What a grisly scene in the cockpit,” he said. “To think they have been sitting there, strapped in their seats, all these years. I wonder when it crashed.”
“Before the Soviet Union dissolved. We found a Soviet pilot’s cap as well.”
“You say there were bones in this wreckage? Did I hear that right?”
“Yes, Captain. Some sort of bones. What they were or are I cannot say. But Dr. Olson and Dixie were very excited about them.”
“Dixie?”
“Yes. Dr. Olson’s assistant. They called their boss back in America after we found the bones. That is about all I know, Captain.”
Stepan started back to the command tent with Cheng at his side. The two men were the same height but the captain struck an imposing figure in his uniform.
Men and women workers were still milling about staring at the police officers and their military helicopter. Inside the tent, one of his men studied an aeronautical chart and conferred with Stepan upon his return.
“We are about to have lunch, Captain,” Cheng said. “You are more than welcome to join us.”
“No thanks, we’ll be off now. Thanks for the tea and answering my questions.”
“What will become of these men you are after?” Cheng said.
“If, and when, we catch up with them, they will be arrested and taken back to Ulaanbaatar for further questioning. Did they harm any of your workers, Cheng?”
“No, just threatened us and scared us. I hope you catch them. Foreigners should not be allowed to break the law in our country.”
“I agree, Cheng, I agree. Now listen to me. In the off chance that these men should return, do not try and be heroes. Give them whatever they demand then call for help after they leave. Keep your sentries posted at night.”
Stepan scurried to the waiting chopper and, at his approach, its twin turbines started winding up. His men followed behind. After they boarded the aircraft, it lifted several feet into the air, hovered for a few seconds, then rose and sped northwest.
Cheng watched it until it had disappeared over the farthest ridge.
***
Harry was up before everyone and sat alone in front of the fire he had stoked into life. The sun was not yet up and the fire felt good. Before retiring the night before, he had tried without success to reach Max on the satellite phone. The morning found him thinking about his mother and what might be happening back home. He filled Jing’s copper teapot with water from a canteen and set it on the portable stove. Leaning against his Mongolian saddle, he let his thoughts drift back to his mother and her condition. Not knowing her present state had left him fretful, and not being able to talk to Max, as hard as that was, made matters even more difficult. He decided to put the thoughts away and concentrate on present matters.
Like what had happened to the young monk? He certainly did not just walk off on his own. Harry was certain of that. There were obvious signs of a struggle and, in addition, there were the large footprints. But as the day wore on the tracks became less discernible because the wind began to erase all traces of them. Now they were in the midst of the great Altai Mountains, and a long way from their expedition site, with Harry having no idea where they actually were. He doubted Jing did either. What he wouldn’t give for a map and compass. Or better still, a GPS. They left the one used for plotting the latitude and longitude of discovered artifacts back at the compound. What he wouldn’t give for it now.
Should they give up searching for the monk and head back? Or should they continue on, in the face of mounting evidence that he had been abducted by a large creature? What were the possibilities that something other than an abduction had happened? If a large animal had killed the monk, wouldn’t there be some of his remains still laying about? There surely would have been blood. And yet, there was none. What other explanation could there be? Harry’s mind drew a blank.
Could it be a Yeti as Jing believed? His scientific mind told him it was impossible. Yet here was proof that something did live up here. Not all the tales could be false. Something unusual, inhuman, stalked these mountains. He might not know what it was but the Mongolian elders did.
Dixie sat beside him and Harry filled mugs of tea then passed one to her. She looked beautiful, fresh and alive, hair askew, but radiant.
She noticed him looking at her and blushed. “I know, I must look a mess,” she said, smoothing her hair. “When we get back to the States, I am going to soak in the tub for a week.”
“Not in the least,” Harry said. “I’m glad you came along.”
Dixie smiled and took a sip of her tea. “I am too. What do you think happened to our monk friend?”
“He disappeared is all I know. I don’t think it was his own doing, however. There were definite signs of a struggle back there. But no blood. And that’s odd.”
The rising sun was a large orange ball on the eastern horizon and the sky was clear. The air was warming. Li and Jing joined them around the stove.
They exchanged greetings and Jing fixed a breakfast of oatmeal while Harry and Li saddled and loaded the horses.
As they ate, Jing continued her earlier dialogue about Yeti. “I have always been skeptical, Dr. Olson. Most every one of my generation is. But seeing those footprints yesterday brought back the stories of my grandfather and my uncles. Suppose all the sightings and photographs of tracks are real, what then? Those footprints are certainly real, right? You tell me, Doctor, what do you make of them?”
Harry tossed his mug in the utensils bag and stood by Jing. “I don’t know, yet. Those tracks are real, yes. But they could have been made by a bear or some other animal. The poor man could have had a fatal encounter with a wild animal.”
“If it was a wild animal, where is the blood? Those weren’t animal tracks and you know it, Doctor.” The way she said doctor indicated that she didn’t think he was being honest with them. “We all know it.”
“You’re saying you think the tracks belong to a Yeti?” Dixie asked.
Jing’s eyes narrowed and a frown appeared on her face. “I’m saying that the evidence says they do, yes.”
Li, who had been silent during these exchanges, shrugged his shoulders and looked at Harry. “So, boss, what is our next move now?”
“I think we need to try and find the damn thing, whatever it is. We might stumble across the monk in the process. He is still missing, you know.”
“Count me out,” Jing interjected. “That’s a stupid thing to do,” The force of her words stunned Harry. “I’m heading back.”
“Let’s suppose you’re right, Jing. Think of the opportunity this is. If we could run across the thing, think what it would mean to science, to mankind.”
“Thinking about making history, Harry? Is that it? You would put our lives at risk for that? For fame?”
Her words cut deep into Harry’s soul. He had no response.
“Besides,” she continued, “we have no weapons to defend ourselves. We might wind up like the monk. It’s an insane idea to go after the thing. We need to return to the research site and notify the police.”
“I think Jing is right,” Li said. “I vote we turn around and go back.”
Harry looked at Dixie who looked away and finished her tea.
“How about you, Dixie? What do you say?”
“Don’t make me the deciding vote. You’re my boss, Harry. I go with you. But don’t make me choose.”
Harry thought for
a while, with the group loading their gear in silence. Finally after ten minutes, he stood. “Okay,” he said. “We go back. Let’s mount up and get moving.”
On the way down the mountain, Harry argued with himself. In his heart, he knew going back was the right decision but he could not help thinking they were passing up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Whatever the thing was, it walked upright and had human-looking feet. His scientific mind ached--no, longed--to find out what it was. Never mind personal risk, it could turn out to be a great discovery. And if the monk was still alive, they were leaving him behind.
Before mounting his horse, he had tried to reach Max but could not link up with the satellite. He tried getting through to Ulaanbaatar but could not do that, either. His mind was a jumble of emotions, making it difficult to think straight. Not having any news about Mother worried him. Had she died? Max hadn’t answered the phone in two days.
Why?
Something was up, he was sure.
Chapter 18
Kesler sat in his favorite chair in the study of his San Mateo home. From his study window, he could see the San Mateo Bridge that crossed the bay into Hayward. He had just talked to Sergeant Walcott, who informed him that he had notified INTERPOL who had then passed the information on to the Mongolian authorities. It was about all he could do for now, he said, without more to go on from Kesler himself.
The cars passing over the bridge looked like tiny insects from Kesler’s vantage point. A delicate haze hung over the bay, muting the water’s color to a dull gray. He glanced at the pictures of his parents in an antique pewter frame beside his chair. It was a photograph of them garbed in the old world clothing of their native Lithuania, his father with a somber countenance, and his mother smiling. He could not remember leaving the country during the Nazi invasion but his adopted mother retold the story often enough that he could recite it from memory. His father had been an optician, a maker of glasses, a trade that had provided a comfortable living. His mother was a seamstress and made fashionable dresses for upscale debutantes. When the Nazis invaded, they dissolved the country’s government and used the Lithuanian army to execute Lithuanian Jews. When large numbers of their fellow countrymen were sent to Germany, his father attempted to find smugglers to get them to Russia, hoping to sell their jewelry to finance a Trans-Siberian Railway trip across Russia and a sea voyage from Vladivostok to Vancouver, Canada. But, unfortunately, this father’s contact turned him in to the Gestapo and they arrested his parents and deported them to a concentration camp. Upon his father’s arrest, his mother took little Julius to a friendly couple who took the boy into their home as their own. Kesler remembered the German soldiers pounding on their door and dragging his father away. He also remembered his mother’s terrified look. He never saw his mother after going to live with the family’s neighbor. After the Russians annexed the country, driving the Nazis out at the close of the war, they began deporting masses of Lithuanians to Siberia. Kesler and his new parents managed to make their way to the US-controlled sector of Germany and from there to America.