by Alan Nayes
She shoved any misguided concern aside and turned her attention to what she would say—introducing Goliath, the living Goliath, to the world. The cameras and video feeds were set to roll. She wished all this had been taking place in secret. The capture should have been done already. Why wait? But it was far beyond that now. Besides, Mendle had orders to document everything. Preparations were still in progress. There could be no room for error. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. Outside she heard the choppers flying over. Monitoring the railroad tunnel, the entrance well guarded and secure.
“Nervous?” John asked.
She nudged his thigh with hers. “Shut up.”
Everything was happening so fast. They’d arrived in Chitina late yesterday afternoon with Mendle and a crew of fourteen. Two fully outfitted Pave Hawks. One chopper carried a heavy rope mesh net capable of transporting a ten-thousand-pound payload. A contingent of thirty airmen had driven the five hours south from Fairbanks to add support to the twenty more men and women from Elmendorf. Mostly to secure the target area. Keep the public out.
Shelby had just gotten off the phone with her mother in Los Angeles yesterday morning when the news broke. She’d watched the images of the huge tracks leading up the ridge above Chitina unfolding on the screen, along with untold millions of others, from video and cell phone photos taken by the locals. Not bear. But primate tracks! Humongous prints. Bigfoot! Already they were calling Goliath the Abominable Snowman from Space.
John shifted in his chair. He pointed out the lieutenant discussing something with the Fish and Game woman. Shelby thought she was the veterinarian in charge.
“Got to give Mendle credit,” John was saying. “Runs a tight ship.”
Shelby couldn’t disagree. His orders had probably kept Goliath from being hurt or killed by overzealous hunters and trackers. Even individuals like Ahmen. But now for the real challenge. Capturing the huge primate alive. And not getting anybody injured or killed in the process. She felt a tap on the shoulder. A hotel employee pointed to the podium. “They’re ready for you, Dr. Hollister.”
Shelby heard the murmurs cease as she made her way to the front. She looked down once at her notes before sliding them aside. “As you are all aware, for the last thirty-one hours, Goliath has been holed up in the old Copper River railroad tunnel. Last year the north entrance was blocked by a landslide. There is only one egress, the south end.” She checked the time. Show confidence. “In a little over an hour we will capture the primate alive and return the only living prehistoric great ape known to science, possibly a Gigantopithecus, back to captivity…”
“That went smooth,” Mendle complimented her.
“Short and sweet.” She followed him and several other members of the capture team out to the Pave Hawk—John, military sharpshooters, the vet, the wardens. “Everything set?” she asked, to quell her roiling gut.
“Let’s bring Goliath home,” the lieutenant said. He donned his headset and ordered, “We roll.”
In the ensuing days Shelby wouldn’t recall what it’d felt like lifting off from the Gilpatrick Hotel parking lot, she’d been so wired with adrenaline. She did recall the chopper cruising over the tiny town and rising above the rim of the heavily forested ridge escarpment, leaving the silty Copper River behind, and minutes later seeing the winding dirt gray gravel road in the distant shadow of sixteen-thousand-foot Mount Blackburn. They followed the road less than five miles as it wound uphill in a series of narrow switchbacks before terminating at the Copper River Tunnel. Only no longer a tunnel but more a man-made cavern, the landslide never cleared from the north entrance as the tunnel went out of service when the copper mines in Kennecott closed down in the 1930s.
A hundred yards from the dark entrance, she saw the military vehicles lined up along the side of the road. Nearer the mountain that the tunnel had originally burrowed through Shelby watched a contingent of armed men and women in camouflage standing by an eighteen-wheeler. Behind the cab was a heavy-duty metal cattle hauling trailer already facing back downhill. If it wasn’t for the recent work of a bulldozer, the truck never would have had the maneuvering room to turn around. She saw John eyeing the truck. Their eyes met briefly and Shelby mouthed, “For Goliath.”
He simply nodded and pointed out the elaborate setup at the open entrance—video cameras mounted on high tripods positioned on either side of the road, a flatbed of four large floodlights aimed at the opening, and the metal security fence surrounding a cleared area of about forty yards fanning out from the tunnel, open only at the road and patrolled by a dozen armed troops. Just beyond the fence a bulldozer had removed more vegetation in a semi-level area for the choppers to land. The Pave Hawk carrying the game net was already on the ground along with the Fish and Game chopper. As the second Hawk descended, Shelby lost sight of the massive pile of rubble—huge chunks of rough stone approaching the size of washing machines—closing off the north entrance, but not before noting the dead-end tunnel continued at least fifty yards into the side of the no-name ridge.
Parked heavy equipment—a bulldozer, backhoe, and a flatbed truck equipped with a small crane—lined the side of the narrow two-lane road opposite the other military vehicles. The trackers waited with three leashed huskies and a bloodhound beside a silver SUV, the open canine kennels sitting on the road beside a wheel hub.
She couldn’t resist asking, “You sure he’s still inside?”
Mendle nodded and pointed out a pickup with a bed full of bushel baskets containing apples, mangos, and bananas. Shelby saw about half the baskets were empty. “He must be well fed.”
The lieutenant grinned awkwardly and for the first time since arriving Shelby noticed the profuse perspiration that had broken out on his face. Shit, he’s as nervous as I am.
The Pave Hawk hovered just above the earth before settling near the Alaskan Fish and Game chopper. Shelby watched for a moment as crewmen transferred the heavy netting from the military Hawk to the game chopper, attaching it to a drop hoist under the chopper’s belly.
Mendle organized the team around the “capture” station, which amounted to a long communications table set up on the old Copper River gravel road about ten yards in front of the barricade opening and equipped with computer laptops, radios, and a host of other electronics she was unfamiliar with. She looked at the aluminum barricade posts. From the air the fence hadn’t seemed that high but standing this near she guessed it was a good eight feet tall.
A woman operating a video camera moved in and listened as Mendle reviewed the plan. As he spoke Shelby met John’s gaze and he smiled—piece of cake—and she shrugged back—I hope so.
The lieutenant seemed to have regained his confidence because his voice carried with authority. “A closed-circuit video feed will broadcast the capture to the Gilpatrick Hotel. As you can see”—he waved his arm—“not enough space for everyone to observe live. Of course, everything will be recorded.”
Shelby noticed how all the personnel, including herself, continued shooting quick looks at the dark entrance. Every so often the three huskies would break out barking as the breeze wafted from the tunnel over to them. They can smell Goliath. She wondered if he could smell them.
Dr. Kim, the veterinarian responsible for the sedation, demonstrated her part of the operation. She held up a monster-sized plastic syringe with an imposing four-inch hypodermic needle. “We will immobilize and sedate the primate with a combination of ketamine and midazolam. I’ve calculated a large enough dose that will work fast and efficiently and safely. Once Goliath goes down we’ll have about thirty minutes to transfer and secure him in the trailer.”
Mendle outlined the plan again. “We’ll lure Goliath out with the fruit. Once he’s out in the open, Dr. Kim will administer the sleeping cocktail and Fish and Game will sweep in and drop the net if he shows signs of struggling. The entire capture should be concluded within five minutes, ten at the most. All routine.”
One of the civilian camera operators asked
, “What if he isn’t hungry?”
Mendle smiled. “As I’m sure Dr. Hollister will attest, a creature that big is always hungry. And let’s not forget, this ape has been asleep for more than a few thousand years. If you were out of it that long, a ripe mango would smell pretty damn appetizing.”
Nervous chuckles prior to the lieutenant adding, “But if fruit doesn’t work, we’ll resort to gas.”
Shelby glanced at the airman briefly holding up a silver thick-barreled teargas gun. She winced. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
The plan laid out, everyone returned to their positions. Shelby walked over to the vet preparing the tranquilizer. “We’ll have to monitor his respirations.”
Dr. Kim smiled pleasantly. “Of course. Are you familiar with animal sedation?”
Shelby gave a little nod. “Mostly chimps and small orangutans.”
The vet loaded the first syringe. “No different.” She did a practice aim. “This monkey’s just bigger.”
“Shelby,” John called. He and Mendle stood next to the communications table. She surveyed the fence and the military men surrounding it once more while walking John’s way. Her eyes settled on the tunnel’s dark maw. Somewhere inside Goliath heard all this commotion. What was he thinking? Was he scared? Probably. Angry? Maybe. Injured? She hoped not. She realized they were fortunate the events had played out as they had, especially the landslide. If the north end of the tunnel had not been blocked, Goliath might still be heading free across the Alaskan frontier.
“You asked earlier if he was still inside,” Mendle said. He handed her a headset. “Listen.”
Shelby placed the receiver over her ears. A tech adjusted a dial. Momentarily she heard only silence and the outside commotion around her, then…She listened, unable to hold back a grin. “That’s him?” The harsh sounds of respirations—inhalation, exhalation—filled the headset. She looked at John. “I hear him breathing.” She counted to herself. Her smile faded. “Twenty-one. His respiratory rate is high. I’d wager his pulse is raging faster than mine. He’s agitated. He knows something’s up.”
Mendle took the set. “The eavesdropping bugs were placed yesterday morning.”
“Why?”
“Astor and SETI suggested it.”
Shelby looked back at the tunnel. “What? Did they actually think Goliath was going to send a message to outer space?”
Mendle exchanged a sideways glance with John. “At least we know he’s inside.”
Shelby said. “At least we know he’s alive.”
“Oh, we know he’s alive,” Mendle guaranteed. “Take a look at this. Two of those video cameras are equipped with night-vision capability.” He shifted the laptop screen her way and moved the cursor. He tapped a key, explaining, “The fruit was set out all day, ever since he was tracked to the tunnel. He refused to venture out though. Too much activity, I suspect. But during the three hours of darkness, we caught this.”
Shelby watched the screen. All the intensified images came across as ghostly green. She could see the dark tunnel opening and several yards in front, sitting in the middle of the gravel road, one of the bushel baskets of mixed fruit. She didn’t ask who the serviceman was who’d had the balls to carry it up. As if inferring her thoughts, Mendle pointed out a hoist mounted along the ridge above the tunnel. “We cabled the basket down.”
Shelby noticed how she was holding her breath. She gasped. “Holy shit!”
Goliath’s hulking gigantic figure suddenly appeared. Seemingly ignoring the men along the fence, he walked out upright with a rambling waddling bowlegged gait and went straight to the basket. Even with the grainy green background she could see his light-colored hair. Settling down in a full squat he grasped entire handfuls of fruit—apples, mangos, bananas—and shoved them in his mouth. He never even bothered peeling the bananas; the mango pits he spit out. When he opened his mouth, Shelby noted his upper and lower canines, much longer than a modern-day gorilla’s. Some of the fruit he sniffed and tossed aside. “Why’s he ignoring those apples?”
Mendle reached for an apple from a box under the table. “It’s one of these.”
Shelby had already figured it out. “You drugged some of the fruit.”
The lieutenant tossed the apple aside. “Thought it would be worth a try. But he’s smart. Never touched one of the tainted pieces.”
Goliath was outside no more than fifteen minutes. When he finished, he lifted the basket, turned it upside down, and shook it. Appearing bored, he finished by throwing it away along the fence. He looked around—with an attitude of disdain, Shelby interpreted—paying scant attention to the men and women watching guard outside the barricade. Dropping to all fours, he knuckle-walked back inside.
“You can breathe now,” John said, smiling.
Shelby only shook her head in awe. “God, he’s fricking huge.”
And we are going to capture that?
CHAPTER 16
Everything was set.
The tranquilizers were prepared, the bushel basket of ripe fruit was set to be lowered in front of the tunnel entrance, the teargas canister loaded if it became necessary, and the drop net was attached to the Fish and Game chopper cable.
Shelby drifted over to the pilot of the game helicopter. He was a young man with a full red beard and heavily tattooed forearms. “I take it you’ve done this before.”
The pilot flashed a confident grin. “Just last week we rescued a twelve-hundred-pound cow elk from a muskeg bog near Lake Louise. And that was with a lighter game net. What we got here is three times as strong.” He completed his inspection, lifting an edge of the net. “Feel that heavy-duty nylon strand.” Shelby did. “Each strand is rated at ten thousand pounds. That’s each strand.”
“So how does it work exactly?”
“Works the same whether the subject is tranqued or not. The net is designed to drop open and once in place, the subject becomes entangled, fights to exhaustion, and we come in, roll the target over, cinch the net to the lift hoist, and fly it to a predesignated drop zone. Today will be easier because the subject should be heavily sedated. We walk in, wrap him up, and lift him to that big trailer over there.” He pointed. “A section of the roof is removable and we gently set him inside. Roof set back in place. Locked. Secured. Job done, and we all go home, and,” pointing to a camera, “watch ourselves on the evening news.” He laughed at this last part.
“Sounds pretty straightforward.” Shelby gave the net a little tug. “You sure this can hold him?” She noticed a reporter recording the conversation.
“No different than dealing with any other North American big game.” The pilot chuckled. “We ain’t dealing with King Kong here.”
Shelby hoped he was as good as his hubris portrayed. She wished his team luck and wandered back to the communications station, not experiencing near the same level of confidence. So many things could go wrong. Too much ketamine could shut down the primate’s respirations, Goliath could choke, he might have an allergic reaction to the drugs or the gas—damn, she just wanted it to be over with and Goliath safe and secure in the trailer.
Mendle finished talking on the radio and passed it to the communications officer. He signaled and the whirr of the game helicopter’s blades reverberated off the ridges. Shelby watched it rise with three men on board.
John returned from where the vet was positioned just outside the opening. “Should be a pretty easy shot. No more than ten yards.”
Shelby watched the fruit basket lowered onto the gravel road. She sucked in a deep breath. Countdown. Liftoff.
John gazed at the dark entrance, gently tapping a large revolver lying next to a laptop. The gun hadn’t been there before. “Now we wait.”
Shelby murmured, “Yes, now we—” She gasped at Goliath’s sudden appearance in the opening. “Shit.”
Mendle seemed caught unprepared as well. He grabbed the radio back. “Net team, be ready. Target is out. Repeat target out!” He wiped s
ome perspiration from his brow. “So much for needing the gas.”
Shelby heard the chopper but didn’t look up, unable to take her eyes from the primate behemoth standing motionless in the tunnel’s maw. She heard some of the airmen adjusting their weapons and listened as Mendle relayed some orders to the two snipers. “Do not shoot. Hold off.” He passed the radio back to the airman, who continued contact with the chopper.
“God, he looks bigger than when he was in the UCO,” Shelby said. And beautiful. Hair snow white except for off the back of his scalp and over his shoulders, which carried a yellowish tinge in the daylight. Silver, too. Massive muscles rippled under the subcutaneous fat wherever the skin was visible, mostly over his abdomen and anterior lower thighs. And every bit of ten feet tall, closer to eleven. God his chest was as wide as a full-grown rhino’s.
“He does, at that.” John’s hand had stopped tapping.
Everyone stood as if in a trance. Shelby could well imagine all minds thinking the same thing. We are the first humans to see this in thousands of years.
Goliath took a hesitant step outside, appearing ready to drop to all fours. Instead, though, he slowly gazed around the entire perimeter before walking out bipedally for the basket.
He isn’t afraid, Shelby realized. Not at all. In fact, she imagined him as arrogant. Why wouldn’t he be? He was the biggest strongest living badass in this entire Alaskan valley.
Goliath nudged the basket gently. Reaching in, he grabbed a handful of fruit. He sniffed it then let it drop. With a sudden swipe he knocked the basket over. He stared overhead. The chopper was not visible but the thwack-thwack of the engine echoed down from just beyond the tunnel ridge.
“Why didn’t he eat it?” Mendle asked somewhat uneasily.
For a split second, Shelby locked gazes with the huge primate. She could see traces of pink in his eyes. He does carry a gene for albinism. “Dr. Kim should take her shots now. He’s tense. Agitated.”