by Richard Edde
Eastwood rode behind him and Doyle heard the man slurp water periodically. He was worried about his boss’s health. Never an athletic man, Eastwood suffered from the usual medical illnesses of middle age--high blood pressure and being overweight. His face was bright red and he limped around like an old man.
As they followed the small stream down the mountain, the grade became easier. Arriving at a level area, Eastwood pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted.
“Let’s rest a moment, Ben. My knees are killing me.”
“Fine, boss.” Doyle dismounted and sauntered over to Eastwood. “Feeling okay? You look bushed.”
“I’m fine, Ben. Just tired. That cave-in about did me in, however.”
“Do you still want to go to the research site?
“Yeah. They’ve found something there, and I’ve got to know what it is. More than that, I want it. If it relates to these Yeti, it could prove helpful.”
Not having a science background, Doyle never understood why these relics commanded so much interest and money. Eastwood wasn’t a scientist either but he had an innate sense of what things were worth and didn’t mind breaking a few laws to obtain them. The man had built a billion-dollar company finding anthropological and paleontological artifacts and selling them to the highest bidder. Doyle’s own fortunes rose as his boss made millions. Italian suits, a fancy sports car, and a large bank account kept him content for the present.
“How will you know if you find it?” Doyle said.
Eastwood paced and stretched his legs. “I will know, Ben, I will know.”
“Let’s push on a while longer,” Doyle said. “We can sleep in a few hours. I want to put as much distance between us and that police captain as possible before bedding down.”
They continued their descent to the Altai steppes. A large yellow moon rose behind them and the sky was filled with bright stars, as if someone had thrown a handful of diamonds across the heavens. The day’s warmth turned chilly as a slight breeze pawed their faces. The indistinct solitary trail was in soft relief, even in the bright moonlight, but their horses kept trudging along without a stumble.
Doyle was tired of Mongolia and longed for a hot shower and a large steak dinner. He hated horses and had a basic fear of the unpredictability of the animals. What had begun as a simple mission to Mongolia had turned into a nightmare, his men killed and him on the run. But the thoughts that haunted him the most were the faces of the creatures in the cave. Yeti, Dr. Olson had called them. Where had they come from? They looked like pictures he had seen back in the States of Sasquatch or the Abominable Snowman.
They had confronted an evil he had never seen nor understood. Thankful that they had survived the encounter, he only wished to get home as soon as possible. He sympathized with Eastwood, but to stop at the research site was a waste of time and effort that would not produce anything of real value. He and his boss needed to get out of the country before there was a national search underway for them.
But Doyle could read the handwriting on the wall. Eastwood had other plans. The man was obsessed now with the Yeti, wanting to obtain one of the creatures to make his fortune. Alive or dead, it didn’t matter.
And the man expected him to help. Which was fine, except they needed to get out of the country, return home, regroup, and plan for an eventual return. Specimens were one thing but one needn’t die for them.
As the vast Altai steppes spread out before him, Doyle called a halt to their trek and made a cold camp on a tiny escarpment next to a dark bluff. Eastwood collapsed on the ground, pulled his jacket around his ears, and huddled against the bluff out of the wind. Doyle unsaddled the horses and gave a saddle to his boss who propped himself against it and closed his eyes.
“I’m getting too old for this sort of thing, Ben. Think we can find our way back to the site?” he asked, trying to ward off the evening chill.
“Follow this stream until the buttes then go northeast. I think we can get there,” Doyle said, putting an optimistic tone in his voice. “Out here on the steppe you can see for miles.”
“I wish I had a cigar,” Eastwood said. “Nothing like a good smoke for relaxation.”
“I always used three fingers of scotch,” Doyle said, forcing a smile.
“That wouldn’t be bad, either, Ben.”
The two men sat in silence, gazing at the stars. After a few moments Doyle spoke. “Remember the military, boss?”
“Sure, Ben. Viet Nam. Overall, it was a miserable experience and I almost didn’t make it out. I’ve never really spoken about it. Making money became my interest.”
“When that IED exploded in my face I thought I was done for. I actually enjoyed my tour in Iraq until then. It blew me up pretty good--you can tell by the scars on my face.”
“You’ve never talked about it either, Ben. What was it like?”
Doyle could sense the compassion in Eastwood’s voice and shook his head. “Bad. Just very bad. I had six operations in a month’s time in Germany then came home for retraining. I didn’t want to get out. But the scars are still painful, even today.”
“I would have opted out after that.”
“But, you see, I had nowhere else to go. My parents were both dead. I needed a family and the army was it. At least for a while. Then I got into trouble and after that I wanted out.”
“It was my luck, Ben. I’m glad you’re here.”
Chapter 30
Dixie’s horse stumbled and bolted her awake. She was still in the saddle, riding behind Captain Stepan with Li and Harry behind her. A brisk biting wind jabbed her face, sending a shiver through her aching body. The silver moon gave enough light that she could see the trail ahead, outlined in the dark. Stepan and Harry had agreed that they would ride throughout the night but she wondered if her battered frame could stand it. She was stiff and sore and it was only a little past midnight. But Harry thought by riding all night and most of the next day they would arrive at the research site by evening. She lowered her head against the wind and said a silent prayer that she could hold out until then.
The Yeti no longer consumed her thoughts, which drifted to Harry--what he was beginning to mean to her and the possible future. Thinking of him eased the pain in her shoulders and legs. At first, she thought it was just a schoolgirl infatuation with her teacher. After all, Harry--Dr. Olson back then--was a nationally recognized scientist in his field. He had taken her under his wing and into his confidence, and she blossomed academically. Under his patient tutelage, she had grown in her scientific knowledge and had come to admire the man. By his example, she learned what it meant to be a professional and a scientist and earned his praise when she performed to his high standards.
Her doctoral thesis was all that was left and, with Harry’s help, it would be completed within the coming year. After that, her plans were vague, and a lot depended on her relationship with Harry. She was in love, of course. But was he? She didn’t know. He acted as if he cared for her but was he willing to make a commitment? Once back in the States things might change.
Harry reined his horse to a halt and jumped to the ground. He came to stand beside Dixie and looked up.
“Let’s rest a spell, Dixie. I know you must be tired.”
Dixie fell into Harry’s arms and he helped her to a small copse of trees where she settled against the largest one. Li followed and sat on the ground next to her. Stepan paced around, stretching.
“Thanks,” she said. “I was getting pretty bushed. Where do you think that Doyle fellow and his boss are headed?”
“Ulaanbaatar and out of the country if they’re smart. I can’t believe they would hang around in Mongolia at the risk of being caught. If Jing managed to call the police, they will be searching all over the steppe for them. It will hard to hide or escape.”
“But what if they return to our site?” Li demanded. “They’ll kill more people, most likely.”
“I do remember something Eastwood said,” Harry mused. “He wants whatever relics we ha
ve uncovered. Your worry is well-founded. He just may be heading to our site. What do you think, Captain?”
“Entirely possible. We’ll know soon enough.”
“Tomorrow evening,” Li said, nodding his head. “What happens if we all get there at the same time?”
“A confrontation, most likely,” Stepan said. “They can’t have much more in the way of weapons than we have.”
“One nine millimeter pistol?” Harry said. “Can’t do much with that.”
Stepan smiled, patting the pistol on his hip. “Don’t forget my trusty machine pistol.”
“There’s three of us and two of them,” Li said. He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders. The wind had lessened but the night’s chill lingered.
Harry frowned, deeply concerned. “Not much of an advantage there. I hate the thought of a confrontation without any idea of a plan ahead of time. We can’t just stumble into our site with no plan, can we?”
“But we can’t sit idly by and let them kill innocent people, either,” Li argued.
“Maybe Jing will have called in reinforcements,” Dixie said, pulling a blanket around her shoulders.
Stepan squatted amidst the group and shot a glance at each person. “If we keep pushing we could catch up with them before they reach the research site. As much as I am hoping for a helicopter full of more SWAT members, I don’t think we should count on it happening.”
“Then, as exhausted as we all are, I vote we push on right now,” Harry said.
Stepan sighed and rose to his feet. “Let’s mount up, then.”
Dixie shot Harry a resigned look then proceeded to climb into her saddle. The rest followed suit and soon they were back on the trail.
The eastern horizon was beginning to lighten with the faintest streaks of gray. Riding behind Stepan, Dixie could barely make out the vast steppe ahead and, while she feared meeting up with Doyle and Eastwood, the police captain gave her confidence that he could handle whatever came their way. She rode along in a fog, as if she was moving slowly toward a preordained climax over which she had no control. Was it really happening?
She thought back to her days at Smith and her stay in rehab. That she knew had been real. Her brother’s death had certainly been real, too real. They had been close, probably closer than most brother-and-sister relationships and when he was killed by a drunk driver, the life had gone out of her. She never felt close to either parent. Her father always talking about money and her mother giving incessant parties for their Wall Street friends. It was Dixie’s brother, Franklin who kept her sane, in spite of her semester-long drug fling. Once she was out of rehab, he had talked to her as only a brother could and got her to see the folly of her behavior.
With his death came the realization that she would have to build a life by herself and she had dedicated herself to that task.
Her horse’s stumble jarred her back into the present. Streaks of yellow and orange light shot skyward from the horizon. Dixie took a drink from her canteen and rubbed her eyes. Dawn was upon them.
***
Doyle was up with the early morning twilight and got the horses saddled while Eastwood slept. Finished, he sat beside his boss, took a drink from his canteen, then shook the sleeping man by the shoulder. Eastwood sat up, looked around, and coughed several times.
“Time to get moving, sir,” Doyle said, helping the man to his feet.
Eastwood relieved himself then climbed into his saddle. Doyle led the way and shifted back and forth, as he searched for a comfortable position. The sun was pushing up over the distant hills, flooding the steppe in pale light. The air was brisk but the wind was still calm.
The rocky trail meandered alongside the shallow stream that tumbled from out of the mountain behind them. Mosses and ferns dotted the shoreline, causing a fragrant perfume to titillate their noses. Doyle turned in the saddle toward Eastwood.
“Once we are out of these foothills, the going should be much easier and faster. Hopefully, we can reach the research site by mid-afternoon.”
“I could use something more to eat than a few strips of jerky,” Eastwood said. “My stomach is rebelling right now.”
“Yeah, mine too. Frankly, boss, the sooner we’re out of this damn country, the better I’ll like it.”
Eastwood forced a laugh. “I was thinking the very thing myself, Ben. Neither one of us is suited for living on horseback and sleeping under the stars. I prefer a soft bed and a roof over my head.”
Both men chuckled and Doyle’s attention returned to the trail ahead of them. The going was slow, despite the gradual descent, due in part to the altitude and the rocky terrain. The sun was now a piercing, blinding fireball so Doyle kept his attention fixed on the trail ahead. They stopped a few times so Eastwood could stretch his legs and have a drink of water.
When the time came, he would persuade Eastwood to put Mongolia behind them and return another time to fetch a Yeti specimen. He didn’t see how two men armed with only one pistol stood much of a chance against the beasts. And if the man was intent on capturing one alive and pirating it out of the country, it was going to take weeks of planning and more men. He hoped he could get Eastwood to see it his way.
***
Jing Wu woke with a start.
Something had startled her. Her heart pounded. It was dark. The moon was behind a cloud, which cast a filtered light around its edges. The small campfire she’d built to cook her dinner was a heap of cold ashes. The mountain was quiet.
But something definitely had awakened her. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and tried to focus through the darkness.
She had ridden long into the night, hoping to make it to the monastery in Tenduk before daylight but fatigue overtook her resolve and she opted to rest for a few hours before continuing. She prayed that the monastery’s phone was working so she could notify the National Police of their predicament.
But the noise had startled and scared her.
She tried to calm her frazzled nerves. Years of trekking alone in the mountains had accustomed her to the strange music and sounds heard at night. These sounds she accepted without fear as a part of a nomad’s life. But this sound was different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was different. Her heart pounded in her temples.
She found her flashlight, switched it on, and plied the darkness with its beam, but saw nothing. She worked to stoke the cold embers of the dead campfire until a small flame flickered to life. The fire grew as she piled on more wood. In a short time, a bright blaze was burning. She paced, worried about the sound she heard, scanning the darkness, seeing nothing.
Finally satisfied, she sat and warmed herself beside the fire and contemplated starting toward the monastery. She estimated that it was only four or five hours more. She took a long drink from her canteen and gazed up at the stars. The Big Dipper was high overhead and the Milky Way stretched across the sky like a silvery veil. She thought of Harry and Dixie and wondered how they were faring. How close they were to the research site. She had grown to like them both during their ride to the monastery, with Dixie doing her best to explain what they were digging for. Jing did her best to understand, but the science of it eluded her. Nevertheless, she had formed a bond with the American pair and hoped she could make it to the monastery in time to call the National Police.
There it was, again.
The sound off in the darkness.
It sounded like a twig snapping.
Jing stood and flashed her light all around, its beam piercing the velvet black.
“Who’s out there?” she shrieked. Her stomach rumbled and her sticky palms grasped the flashlight all the tighter.
Nothing.
She shuffled beyond the ring of firelight and was startled by the stench of decaying matter--pungent, burning her nostrils. She glanced around but saw nothing. Heard nothing.
Her horse, who earlier grazed methodically, now danced at the end of its tether. Its ears were laid back against its head. The animal sensed something.
“Hold still,” she said, irritated and worried. When she tightened the cinch, the horse nickered again and pawed the ground.
“What’s the matter with you?” she said, this time in a loud, commanding voice. “If you don’t cooperate, we’ll never get going.”
Satisfied the saddle was secure, Jing turned and suddenly stared into the face of a large hairy Yeti.
The red eyes of the creature blazed like burning coals from her campfire and spittle dripped from its long fangs. Its hot, putrid breath hit Jing in the face and drove her backward. She tried to scream but the sound stuck in her throat.
Glancing to her left, she saw that the Yeti had friends, one on each side of the large one. They approached, snarling, hissing. Jing turned to run but the large Yeti grabbed her in a powerful grasp and pulled her to him. Her head spun, her stomach revolted, she vomited. Warm liquid ran down her legs. Her vision tunneled around the hideous creature.
The hair on the animal was course and long. It smelled of dead, rotten flesh. Jing fought to breathe. Frantic, she struggled against the Yeti’s hold on her but it was no use. The animal brought her close to him, clutching her with powerful hands. She fought with every fiber of her being, for her life depended on it. She struggled but its hold crushed the air from her lungs, making it difficult to breath. A kick to the Yeti’s knee did nothing except focus her mind on the helplessness of her situation. For a moment, their eyes locked on each other and Jing wondered if it knew she was human, almost like itself in many ways.