Yeti

by Richard Edde

  “The guys know that, sir, and are ready,” Doyle said.

  “Well, let’s get after them. Why are they in there, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Doyle said. “But it must be important whatever it is.”

  “But the police, Ben. Why the need for the police?”

  “Don’t know that, either.

  Eastwood shrugged. “Okay, Ben. Lead on.”

  ***

  Harry jumped. Had he been dozing? He didn’t know. His senses were on full alert. He peered into the darkness and listened, straining to hear.

  Something was moving about in the dark.

  Everyone was asleep, no other sounds could be heard, except their regular, soft breathing.

  There it was again.

  Something was definitely moving about at the far end of the cavern.

  Soft, muffled sounds, like someone walking, crunching the dirt beneath their feet. He thought someone might be up using the bathroom in a dark corner but no one returned.

  He grasped the Pernach machine pistol and felt its cold metal in his hand. He strained to see past their little group but it was no use. He could make nothing out. Sitting dead still, he waited. The sound had stopped.

  The silence pounded in his ears.

  Then...

  There it was again.

  Muffled steps.

  Moving to his left.

  Harry’s mouth was dry and tasted like metal. Something was different in the darkness. His conscious mind couldn’t register it, but something had triggered the primitive part of his brain. Adrenaline surged through his body, putting his nerves on edge, heart rate doubled, ready for fight or flight. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a glimpse of a dark shape. Bigger than a person. He quickly counted the dark outlines of the team members and all were sleeping.

  He lost the shape in the darkness. The footsteps stopped. He thought about switching on his flashlight but a curious fear gripped him. He couldn’t bring himself to illuminate whatever was in the cavern with them. He thought he should wake the others but they needed rest. So he remained frozen, gripped the pistol, and waited.

  Again the muffled steps.

  This time closer.

  With ears attuned to the slightest sound, Harry scanned the cavern.

  Two red dots, like eyes.

  In the darkness.

  Staring at him.

  He jerked the pistol up and fired two shots in rapid succession. The noise crashed through the cavern and the team jumped up, screaming.

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Harry, what is it?”

  Stepan switched on his headlight at the same time Harry clicked his flashlight and pointed the beam in the direction of the red eyes.

  Nothing.

  Everyone was now awake and up milling around. Jing was sobbing.

  “What happened,” Stepan asked Harry. He walked around, surveying the cavern while the SWAT team searched its periphery.

  “Something was in here,” Harry said. “Moving about. I couldn’t see what it was in the dark.”

  Jing sobbed. “It’s the Yeti, like I told you. They must live here, in these caves. They must come down to the lower elevations in search of food.”

  “Jing, stop that,” Harry said in a stern tone. “You are freaking everyone out.”

  But Jing continued to sit and sob softly.

  One of the SWAT team yelled at Stepan and he and Harry went to look at what he had discovered. At the far end of the cavern was a cluster of large human-like footprints that led to where the group had been sleeping.

  There were large drops of blood on the ground.

  “These weren’t here earlier,” Stepan said. “We looked, remember?”

  Harry nodded. He was still shaking from the shooting. He had to get himself under control, but doing so was difficult.

  He walked over to Jing, stooped, and put an arm around her. She turned, looked at him with her large brown eyes, then put her head on his chest, and cried again. He felt helpless, not knowing what to say or how to comfort her.

  When she finished crying, he stood and walked over to where Stepan was talking to his men. The captain was giving instructions to his sergeant, pointing first in one direction then another.

  The sergeant nodded then ambled off toward the other SWAT team members.

  Stepan turned to face Harry, a somber look on his face. “I don’t mind telling you, Doctor, we need to find this assistant of yours, and soon, or it may be too late.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right, Captain. And I’m beginning to think Jing has been right all along. There’s something evil lurking in these caves.”

  Chapter 24

  Doyle, Eastwood, and their men stood beside an underground stream, which ran through a large, high-domed cavern. They had just traveled through a long, narrow tunnel, emerging into a great room filled with stalactites dripping water. A cold draft blew through the groups’ clothing, causing Eastwood to pull a fleece sweater out of his pack.

  “Wow,” he said, scanning the immense underground room. “I’ve never seen anything like this. There’s a waterfall at the far end. See it?”

  “Yes, I do,” Doyle said. “Pretty impressive. It’s going to be tough crossing this stream. Looks fairly deep and swift right here.”

  “There’s bound to be a better crossing around here somewhere,” Eastwood said. “The research team made it over, obviously.”

  Doyle shuddered at Eastwood’s use of the term, obviously, but sent Kurt and Marley to look for a spot at which to cross. Waiting alone with Gillum and his boss, Doyle thought how much more complicated things were going to be now that Eastwood was along for the duration. Although the two men always enjoyed an amicable working relationship, there was an undercurrent of mistrust that came through Eastwood’s dealings with his subordinates. Doyle was usually able to put his feelings for his boss aside and concentrate on the job or mission at hand, a fact that was made easier because the two men rarely worked side by side. But now that Eastwood was on site, he would want to take charge and Doyle realized that, sooner or later, conflicts would arise. He hoped that they would not be serious ones and jeopardize himself or his men.

  Kurt waved and the pair ambled to where he stood alongside a narrower portion of the stream. Small rocks lay scattered over the sandy shore, which sloped gently to the water that appeared deep and swift. It glowed an emerald green hue as their lights danced over its surface.

  “There’s footprints here,” Kurt said. “The scientists must have crossed here as well.”

  When Marley joined them, he pushed into the frigid water and then let out a yell.

  “It’s damn cold,” he said above the sound of the rushing water that was around his chest.

  Gillum followed, then Kurt, and Eastwood, leaving Doyle to bring up the rear. Despite the freezing temperature of the water, crossing posed no problem and soon all were on the far side, safe but chilled. As they neared the waterfall, it became harder to hear while the mist soaked their clothes. The water plunged over mammoth boulders, filling the air with a storm of spray turning the river below into a churning soup. Damp and exhausted they found an indent in the rock a short distance from the waterfall and huddled there as Doyle contemplated their next move.

  “Start a fire and let’s dry out,” commanded Eastwood. He pointed to Kurt and Marley.

  “We need to push on,” Doyle countered. “They are up ahead somewhere.”

  “I doubt there’s a way out of this cave at the far end,” Eastwood said, his voice shaking. “So they will be coming back this way on the way out, and we will be blocking their exit. Now get a fire going.”

  Doyle nodded his assent to Kurt and Marley, who stumbled off in search of anything that would burn. They managed to find a few limbs from dead shrubs and soon had a small fire blazing. Eastwood took off his sweater and laid it on the ground near the flames. Doyle opted to keep his clothes on and sat as close as he dare
d to the growing fire. Marley sat at the entrance to the small rock recess, with his Persuader shotgun in his lap. Kurt and Gillum rested on the ground near Eastwood.

  “Got anything to eat?” Eastwood asked Doyle.

  “Sure,” he said and tossed a pack to his boss.

  Finding a small bag of jerky, Eastwood chewed and surveyed the large cavern. “I never would have believed anything like this was possible,” he said. “It’s astonishing, simply astonishing.”

  “Unbelievable, for sure,” Marley said from his seat at the recess’s opening.

  Doyle tried to keep a lid on his temper, as he was prone to let it get the better of him. Eastwood’s sudden appearance and taking command sent Doyle’s emotions into a tailspin, on the verge of being out of control. He now had two problems with which to contend--his boss showing up and Kurt’s mental state. Kurt had a surly disposition, prone to second-guess every decision he, Doyle, made. The man could go off at any moment. As for the other problem, he was going to have to have patience. In any given operation, he knew there could not be two commanders, two leaders. He realized he would have to take a back seat to Eastwood, swallow his pride, and make it work. What had allowed their association to work in the past was that they operated separately and Doyle was his own boss and the leader of his team in Eastwood’s absence. It was a system that worked well. But now? He wasn’t sure.

  Eastwood got up and headed beyond the rock recess that formed the niche in which they rested. “I need to take a leak,” he said, and disappeared past Marley.

  Kurt moved to sit beside Doyle. He had a dark frown on his face. “What the hell is he doing here?” he said. “Did you know he was coming?”

  “Not until he was in the chopper and almost here. And no, I didn’t know he was planning on being here.”

  “He’s so condescending,” Kurt said. “Why do you work for him?”

  “Most of the time we’re not together on a mission such as this. We just converse over the phone.”

  “Is he really all that rich?”

  “Apparently. Never seems to worry about money matters that I know of.”

  “If I had all that money, I’d be fishing in the South Pacific, not grubbing my way around a damn cave in a forgotten country.”

  “He’s excited by all this. Thinks he’s still a bigshot in ’Nam or something,” Doyle said.

  “I just want us to end this mission soon. I’m getting sick and tired of wandering around, doing nothing with our thumbs up our butts. If we move in, kill every last one of the bastards, I doubt any of them would ever be discovered in this place.” His voice snarled and hissed venom as he spoke.

  “Kurt, you can always turn back. Leave any time. You ought to be able to find your way back to Ulaanbaatar alone.”

  Kurt snarled again and lowered his eyes. “I don’t want to go back alone, Ben, I want to get this damned thing over and done with. All this jacking around makes me jumpy.”

  “Look,” Doyle said, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, “this will all be over soon. Then we will be enjoying cold beer on a nice vacation. Eastwood has promised.”

  Eastwood returned and Kurt moved back to a spot farther from the dwindling fire. The BioGen CEO reclined against the rock wall and soon was sleeping.

  Doyle nearly blew a fuse.

  Now we have to wait while the boss naps.

  ***

  Dr. Kesler sat in Stu Walcott’s office in the San Francisco Police Department, waiting for the sergeant to return. He had not heard from Harry in days and was worried that some misfortune had befallen the team. He fidgeted and looked out the sergeant’s window overlooking downtown and listened to the faint moan of cars on the Bayshore Freeway.

  Walcott entered, closed the door, slouched in his chair, and lit a cigarette. His white shirt was wrinkled and sported a mustard stain on the front. He looked at Kesler with stone gray eyes and smiled. “And how are you, Doctor? How is Cal Pacific these days?”

  “I’m not doing very well, Sergeant, but the university keeps plugging along as usual.”

  “Any news from your scientist colleague, Dr...”

  “Olson,” Kesler interjected. “Dr. Olson. No, I haven’t heard a word from him and that is why I’m here. I’m terribly worried. I hoped maybe you had heard something from Mongolia or INTERPOL.”

  Walcott blew a large smoke ring toward the window and took a sip of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. He made a face and set the cup on his desk. “Police coffee, Doctor. Don’t ever try the stuff. Like battery acid. Actually, we have not heard anything back from the Mongolian police. The language barrier makes things like that difficult. Which is why INTERPOL is usually the liaison between countries in situations such as this. They have sent an initial message to them outlining what happened to you. I don’t suppose you can add anything to the descriptions of the men who abducted you?”

  “Unfortunately, no, Sergeant. I have the worst feeling about all of this. Harry--er--Dr. Olson is a dear friend as well as colleague. I’m just sick at the thought that something may have happened to him. Not knowing makes the worry all the more fearful.”

  Walcott smiled, snubbed out his cigarette, and got up from his chair. “Tell you what, Doctor,” he said, taking Kesler by the arm and leading him toward the door. “I’ll contact INTERPOL again and see if I can’t prod them along on this. Maybe some gentle nudging from my office can produce some results. That sound all right with you?”

  Kesler nodded. “It’s fine. And thank you.”

  “I’ll keep in touch.”

  Leaving the Hall of Justice, Kesler prayed again for the team’s safety. The potential scientific implications of the latest DNA revelations from the bones and teeth Harry had sent no longer mattered. At least for now. The possibility of discovering a new hominid paled in comparison to Harry’s, Dixie’s, and the team’s safety. He couldn’t fathom what his life or his career, let alone his professional reputation, would be like if they did not return. Talking to Dixie’s parents had been the hardest thing he had ever done and he doubted he would be able to give them ultimate bad news if it came to that. The fact that he had allowed Harry’s mistake to remodel their relationship grieved him to the point of sadness. One didn’t hold a son’s blunder against him, not if they were loved like he loved Harry. And Harry seemed truly repentant. The reasons behind Harry’s actions were understandable in the current world of academic promotions, a world of publish or perish, of discoveries earning pay raises or a notable book. He vowed things would be different if Harry and the team made it back.

  Outside, the warm sunshine brightened his spirits somewhat. It was a beautiful day on the San Francisco peninsula. He found his car then headed back to his San Mateo home.

  ***

  Eastwood woke and looked around. Everyone was sleeping and, in the large cavern, it was quiet as a church on Monday night. He stretched and sat up. It was difficult to believe that he was here in the middle of the earth, scurrying after a bunch of scientists in the dim hope of making a few million dollars. He wondered if he wasn’t beginning to lose a grasp on his sanity, what with the trouble in obtaining the president’s appointment and now this idiotic stalking. He was no longer sure he knew what he would do when they found them. They might not have anything he wanted or be willing to kill for. And it was that point that concerned him. If the scientists had nothing to show for their efforts, then a confrontation was pointless. Worse yet, if there were needless deaths, then Eastwood would have to bear that responsibility. He was not opposed to killing, just senseless killing. He realized the killers whom Doyle hired were eager for a confrontation, possibly Doyle himself. Many years had passed since Eastwood had soiled his hands with that sort of action and the prospect of doing so in the near future troubled him. Now that he was bottled up in this damned mountain, he was losing his appetite for the pursuit. He had often thought of selling out, finding a nice young woman he could bed, and simply relaxing. But the lure of the next deal, of adding more riches to his name, forestall
ed that action. He worried that he was addicted to wealth.

  Others stirred and soon Doyle was up. Eastwood listened to the idle chatter of the men as they prepared for another trek deeper into the cave. He donned his backpack and strapped his 9 mm pistol to his hip.

  Shouting from the front of the small indent caught his attention. Doyle hurried to address him.

  “Sir, Marley’s gone,” he said, looking frantic.

  “What?” Eastwood said, suddenly alert.

  “Marley was on watch and now he’s gone. Disappeared. Gillum and Kurt searched close by and there are no signs of him.”

  Doyle picked at his ear as if waiting for Eastwood to issue orders.

  “He couldn’t have just up and disappeared,” Eastwood said after a few moments of silence. “He has to be somewhere close, there’s no place for him to go. Go look for him.”

  “I’ve searched near where he was sitting and the ground is churned up but nothing definitive there. There are occasional footprints scattered about that are Marley’s size so he may have decided to explore down the tunnel. But the guys ran down there quite a ways and found nothing.”

  Kurt came running up, his flashlight casting beams of light back and forth. He was panting hard as he spoke.

  “Boss, we found something farther down in the tunnel,” he said, gasping. He held out a black boot for Eastwood and Doyle’s inspection. “It belongs to Marley. Found it nearly fifty yards down the tunnel.”

  Gillum walked over and stood by the three men. “Yup, that’s Marley’s boot all right,” he said. “Only he wore a shoe that large.”

  Doyle grabbed his backpack and nodded at Eastwood. He removed his pistol from its holster, then racked the slide. “Let’s go,” Doyle said. “Gather up the equipment and let’s go find Marley.”

  Doyle led the way into the tunnel down a series of steps, followed by Eastwood, then Kurt, with Gillum last in line. A short way into the tunnel, they passed strange markings carved into the rock wall.