Jack’s hand was finally released, thoroughly confused by the large woman’s last remarks. As he left the store, he stopped and watched the camp around him. The supplies were almost loaded and he looked up to see Sarah standing at the bottom of a small ladder, holding it steady while her eyes were burning a hole through him. Ryan was busy taking out his frustrations on the engine cowling of the RCMP helicopter.
He shook his head and started down the steps when he saw the breeze bring the trees to life again around the fishing camp. He stopped walking and looked around. He was totally confused as to why the sound and movement of the trees made him uncomfortable—it was primal in nature and it was if he and the others were not only being watched, but that whoever was watching was a danger. He took a step and then felt eyes on him. He stopped and turned and saw the old woman standing in the doorway. She wasn’t looking at him. She was also watching the trees, while wiping her hands on her long leather skirt. Her eyes finally looked at Jack, and then she turned away and entered the store, the darkness inside swallowing her up.
THE STIKINE RIVER (THE PLATEAU)
Lynn Simpson stood at the edge of the river and stared at the woods across the way. The late afternoon was still filled with brilliant sunlight as it dappled off the fast-moving Stikine. Her eyes roamed over to ten of the Russians as they uncrated several small devices that had been encased in Styrofoam. Of these, one very large and powerful man loaded a small rifle. It was short, and the barrel was wide and fat. He attached one of the small, round objects they had just uncrated and then attached a short pole to it. He then rammed the pole into the weaponlike device and raised it to his shoulder. He pulled the trigger and there was the sound of a compressed air blast that sent the object hurtling over the Stikine until it disappeared three hundred yards into the trees. The large man continued until six of the rounded objects had been sent across and deep into the far woods at about four hundred yards’ separation.
As she watched this strange delivery method of equipment, other men started sitting up a large tent and they began filling it with small consoles that sat upon tables, while others began digging a large pit. Soon, they pieced together a small generator and placed it into the hole. They soon had it covered with large branches cut from the trees, surrounding the camp forming a weatherproof cover for the generator.
That morning they had traveled more than seventy miles upriver, arriving at a large bend that actually started to turn south on the eastern side. Now, instead of crossing onto the north side of the Stikine, the Russian leader, Sagli, had made camp on the southern shore, for what reason Lynn couldn’t fathom. Thus far, he had kept his distance from her as he supervised what looked to be their final camping spot.
Lynn became more curious as a large, fifty-foot-tall antennae was raised just outside of the large blue tent where all the sophisticated equipment had been setup. When they had the guy wires in place and taut, the men went about setting up their tents and then after that it actually looked as if they were preparing defensive fire pits around the camp. As she admired the efficiency of the developing base of operations, she saw Sagli with a set of papers. He was looking from them and then surveying the woods around them, even looking up and out across the river a few times. He was deep into thought. That was when Lynn decided to approach the ponytailed Russian.
“Since I am more than likely going to remain behind when you leave here, maybe I can learn what it is you are looking for?”
Sagli didn’t even look up from the papers he held in his hands. “These are copies of the Lattimer note and a description of this area as written by a Russian colonel long ago in 1918 that we received from our friend—” Sagli caught himself before he disclosed something he swore never to divulge. “In them, this colonel describes the area where he had left two wagons full of gold. I am now in the process of correlating his description with the area I have chosen to begin the search.”
“It would seem to me you would be looking for an area against the plateau and not out in the open like you are, that is if it is gold you are looking for.”
“Observant, Ms. Simpson; however, that is not our purpose here.” He finally lowered the papers and looked the beautiful woman over. “I have found the landmarks described in the letters, it is right over there across the river. Do you see the rise of the plateau about a mile and a half into the woods?”
“Yes,” she said as she held her bandaged hand to her eyes to shield them against the setting sun.”
“The three largest veins of limestone running horizontally down its face, that is the only such variant that comes close to what Lattimer and this Russian colonel had described. His find has to be nearby.” Sagli looked at Lynn and then seemed to decide something. He reached into his right pants pocket and brought out a small plastic case. He opened it and removed a large gold coin. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, handing it over to her.
Lynn turned the heavy coin over in her hand. The gold was cool to the touch and, of course, she recognized it immediately. “It’s an American-minted gold double eagle, circa 1891. Value in today’s gold market at about nine hundred fifty dollars, give or take ten dollars. If memory serves me correctly, the twenty-dollar gold piece weighs approximately .9675 ounces of pure gold.”
“I am astounded at your knowledge of such mundane things as gold, Ms. Simpson, truly amazed.”
“We have to be up on the markets for terrorism purposes, that fact shouldn’t surprise you that much.”
“Nonetheless, you are correct. And somewhere out there is two wagons full of them and we are now here to find those wagons’ resting place.”
Lynn could sense the lie coming from Sagli’s mouth. At first, she thought he was telling the truth, but it was in the way he quickly turned away from her that undid him. She was trained to see the small of a lie, when a larger one would have been hidden the truth better. She had also noticed that among the copies Sagli was examining, there was one that stood out. It was a computer-generated letter that had English language written upon it, and she saw the header; it was from the NSA—the National Security Agency of her own country.
“And no one since this Lattimer guy has ever looked for it?” she asked, trying to keep him talking and eyeing the papers, trying to see more of the NSA printout he held.
Sagli turned back to face her; at the same time he reached out and took the heavy double eagle from her hand and replaced it in the plastic case.
“As a matter of fact, this coin was found nearby back in 1968.”
“And all of this stems from a Russian diary from 1918?”
“Yes, that was the starting point for Lattimer, when he found the rotting diary along this very point of the river, possibly at this very spot.”
Lynn couldn’t help but smile. “And you, being the wealthiest man in Russia, you decide to throw it all away for a treasure hunt, one that wouldn’t even be a decimal point in advantage to that wealth? No, Mr. Sagli, I don’t buy it, just like my agency won’t swallow that load of bull. What are you really looking for?”
Sagli smiled. This time the humor went all the way to his eyes, which was far more unsettling to Lynn than when it hadn’t.
“We are looking for the gold, and it is a far more valuable commodity than you or your agency is aware of.”
Lynn watched Sagli walk away and then stride into the large tent. She followed at a slower pace as to not attract the attention of the men she knew had been assigned to watch her. As she stepped to the side of the unzippered flap, she leaned in and saw that Sagli was listening to the right side of a headset, and as he held the radio link up, he absentmindedly tossed the coin onto the large table that held the radio. As she examined that table, she saw small pieces of twisted metal lying next to even more of the gold coins. Before she could see the twisted shards of black painted metal closer, a large hand grabbed her arm and turned her around. She came face to face with Gregori Deonovich. He was wild haired and dirty. Several of the camps men were pulling the Zodiac h
e had arrived in up the bank of the river. Deonovich roughly pushed Lynn into the tent.
Sagli lowered the headphones, and saw his partner and the angry expression he had on his filthy face. Deonovich raised a hand and then brought it down across the face of the American woman. Lynn fell to the nylon floor of the tent and then received a kick from the much larger man.
“Brother, brother, what is the matter with you, we were just trying to contact your team, what happened?” Sagli said, grabbing Deonovich and staying the next kick he had already drawn back to deliver to Lynn.
“Someone is tracking this woman. An aircraft we thought was nothing more than fishermen opened fire on us from the air.” He turned to face Sagli. “They took out my entire team.” He suddenly stopped and then pulled Sagli to the back of the tent, angrily ordering some of the technicians away.
Lynn wiped blood from her mouth and then rubbed her ribs where the big boot had landed squarely. Then she saw the animated way Deonovich was talking to Sagli. Lynn could see by the large man’s body language that it wasn’t just the reverse ambush of his men, it was something else. Sagli turned away and closed his eyes. Then he turned back angrily.
“Was he killed?” he asked.
Deonovich looked from his partner to Lynn, then he stepped forward and once more removed Sagli from earshot. He whispered something and then let go of his arm.
“Still, would it not have been more prudent to allow the aircraft to land before opening fire on it? That way you would have at least known who was on it. Now we have lost men we cannot replace and you have also left a now obvious enemy in our rear.”
“They have no radio, and that gives us at least two or three days to find what we came for,” Deonovich said by way of making things right with his partner for his failed ambush and the planned murders of the fishing camp family. “That means they either have to go downriver for help, in which case when they return with help we will be gone from this place, or they will come after us. And that will be to our advantage because they will be bringing our . . .” He stopped talking and looked at Lynn. “Get this woman out of here,” Deonovich shouted at the men lining the front of the tent. After Lynn was picked up and moved out, Deonovich continued. “These intruders obviously do not realize who it is they have brought with them.”
“Still, the chances of our success have now been diminished at the very least.” Sagli turned away in deep thought. He turned back to face Deonovich. “Do you have any idea who these people were?”
“I have no idea, they were expert marksmen I can tell you that, my friend. But the means in which they arrived should rule out the possibility of a government resource, even a Canadian one.”
“Your meaning?” Sagli asked.
“The aircraft they arrived in looked as if it had been taken from a museum.”
Sagli was confused as to who these intruders at the fishing camp could be. Especially if they had who Deonovich described as their partner on the same plane as themselves.
“Well,” he said with a shrug. “The stakes are too high for us to concern ourselves with such a small force. We will watch and wait and continue our search, and when these men arrive, if they arrive, we will kill them all.”
As both men stepped aside and allowed the technicians to continue adjusting their equipment, Sagli stopped at the tents flap and saw Lynn facing north across the river. Then he noticed a few of his own men looking in that direction. Before he could order all of them back to work, he heard what it was that had stopped everyone in their tracks. The hammering of wood on wood had started again from deep in the forest across the river. Sagli stepped from the tent and cocked his head to the right side, trying to figure area and distance of the irritating, strange sound. As he did, several more of the distinctive slapping of wood commenced in other parts of the forested wilderness. Some sounded as if they were on their side of the river. Unnerved, Sagli turned to Deonovich.
“I want a fifty percent alert status on watch tonight. I suspect we have Indians indigenous to this area out there trying desperately to get our attention, and I don’t know what they have planned, but I want to be ready for whatever it is.”
The noise grew in volume and continued for three hours until the sun set behind the western mountains, and then all became horribly still; even the constant buzzing of insects ceased as the moon slowly rose over the Stikine River and its nervous visitors.
The Chulimantan were starting to move south from the small plateau and into the valley of the Stikine.
SIXTY-FIVE MILES SOUTH ON THE
STIKINE RIVER
Will Mendenhall had been placed in the bow of the fifteen-foot Zodiac boat. The old river craft had been reinforced at the bow and stern with slabs of plywood, and there was a small cockpit complete with a windshield and an ice-chest stool for the river pilot. Marla’s father had built in coolers and the control panel with throttles for the twin Evenrude motors, complete with depth finders and fish locators. As Will looked back at the cockpit where Carl Everett sat, his eyes moved to the colonel. Jack had placed Will in the bow as a lookout, and then had placed Henri Farbeaux and Punchy Alexander at the sides for the same purpose, while he sat next to Everett, cleaning one of the hunting rifles: an old-fashioned .30-.30 Winchester.
Jack had talked nonstop for the past hour, sharing something with Everett. Will wondered what it could be that made the captain sit as still as he had while he listened, being as the colonel had placed the Frenchman and Alexander as far away as possible in the boat so he could talk to the captain. Doc Ellenshaw was constantly writing in an open journal, looking up from his words for a minute of reflection, then delving back into his writing.
As they approached a large bend in the Stikine, Will turned and saw that Collins had changed his position and had come up to the bow without him noticing.
“Colonel,” Will said as he lowered the binoculars, and then turned over from where he had been laying against the tall rubber and plywood bow, “you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Getting spooked in your old age, Lieutenant?” Jack said as he slid down beside his security officer.
Mendenhall looked around at the passing scenery of the Stikine and its surrounding woods. The sun was now so low as to set the trees and even the water on fire with its bright orange illusion. The sun was dying and Will could see hope doing the same in Jack’s face; this would be a long night of waiting on shore instead of going ahead upriver.
“To tell you the truth, Colonel, I’ve never been big on camping.” Will looked back at Jack with an embarrassing smile that started and then failed to materialize. “I don’t know, I guess it’s become more acute since we left the fishing camp, but I swear for the past fifty miles . . .”
Collins watched Will as he failed to say what he was thinking. He glanced back as he felt the eyes of Farbeaux on him from behind. Henri raised his brows, smiling. It was if he knew Will was distressed about his surroundings and wanted to let Jack know that he knew. Collins gave him no indication that he cared one way or another as he turned back to the young black lieutenant.
“It’s not like you to not finish a thought, Will, so give: What’s on your mind?”
“We’re being watched, Colonel,” Mendenhall said as he again attempted the smile, and then shook his head at his failure. He turned back to face the front of the boat and the river beyond.
“We just may have something watching us, although I believe we won’t run into our Russian friends for another fifty or so miles.”
“It’s not that,” Will said without turning back to face Jack. “It’s more instinctual—like walking down a street in Compton, just knowing that there is someone lying in wait for you around the next corner.”
“Are images and memories of growing up in L.A. coming back to spook you?”
“No, that I could deal with, now as then. This is something else, like a memory, a very old memory or something. A thing from the past; hell, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“What you’re feeling is the state of loneliness in this part of the world,” Collins said as he relaxed and lay against the large rubber wall of the Zodiac, placing the blue, seventy-year-old baseball cap that the old woman had given him before they left at a lazy angle covering his eyes. “I don’t know if men . . . people like you and me that is . . . were ever meant to be here. Hell, maybe no one was ever meant to be in a place like this.” Jack lifted the old Brooklyn ball cap and looked squinty eyed at Will. “And, Lieutenant, in the wilderness there is always something out there.”
“Yes, sir,” Will said, but was not satisfied as he turned back and looked into the dark woods that slid by the large boat as it moved upriver.
As the boat with its six-man crew moved along the river, the sun began to set and the woods surrounding them began to come alive with the animals that used darkness to hunt. As Mendenhall nervously glanced behind him, he saw Punchy Alexander watching the left side with all the determination of a man truly seeking out the bad things that could harm them. Farbeaux, on the other hand, was looking right at Will, his smile still there. Henri then winked at him. It was if the Frenchman were conveying once more that he had a secret that only he knew. Will figured it was only Henri being the total ass that he was.
Mendenhall finally relaxed when Carl turned the Zodiac in toward shore. All eyes except for the colonel watched as a small clear area presented itself, and the roving band of rescuers had a spot in which to wait anxiously for the rising sun that would signal them another day closer to finding Jack’s sister—one way or the other.
RUSSIAN BASE CAMP
NORTHERN STIKINE
The tent that had been set aside for half of the camp to eat in was still crowded as Lynn was given a plastic plate, and then watched as something resembling beets and a mystery meat was plopped into it. She was given a plastic fork but no knife. She turned away from the surly brute with the filthy apron and looked about the tent. She saw several places she could have sit down to eat, but decided that she would forgo the splendid company of men that grumbled and shoveled food down their throats and move to the outdoors. She chose a place by the small fire about halfway between the tents and river. The sun was now but a memory as the last of it dipped below the tree line to the west, signaling the true beginning of night.
Primeval: An Event Group Thriller Page 27