The Huntsman

by Rafael

  Greg Dawson, reporter for the Columbus Dispatch leaned over to whisper. “Does it ever get old?” Miranda shook her head. Thick, wavy, shoulder length hair swirled around her face. Except for the flame-red color, she wore it like a lion’s mane. Grammar school terrorists had nicknamed her Medusa. But when she returned from summer recess to start her high school junior year, tongue-tied adolescents could only cast furtive glances at the stunner walking the halls.

  “I’m so nervous I could pee.” A giggle almost escaped but only squabbling birds broke the silence. For two days this section had remained closed. Despite the CEO’s not so gentle reminders of the revenue losses, Betty needed a calm and peaceful environment. Miranda had long established she would not allow him to tattoo dollar signs on the animals. Besides, San Diego had committed $200,000. They wanted a healthy calf to insure their hippo herd’s gene pool remained robust.

  “How much longer?” Greg asked.

  “Any minute. She’s agitated. Her turning is meant to clear the water of any debris or fish. You can see her water broke. Part of the placenta is dangling from her rump. Betty bent her legs to lie down. Water lapped against her flanks and submerged her rear. She seemed to heave and gulp for air. Sealable nostrils exhaled two loud snorts. The water behind her roiled then turned red. Miranda held her breath. An eternity passed before a miniature hippo surfaced to take its first breath. Ears wiggled with the fierceness of rotor blades. Sounding like two furnace bellows, water sprayed from its nostrils.

  Betty rose to her feet. All her attention focused on the newborn swimming underwater, rapidly acclimating to an aquatic life. Any sign of trouble and Betty lowered her huge snout to give her calf a gentle nudge. An almost painful joy surged through Miranda’s heart. Greg’s arm draped her shoulders. He loved her deeply but it remained unrequited. Miranda’s girlfriends thought her crazy to rebuff the kind and handsome journalist’s advances. She allowed herself to lean against him then pulled out a tissue to dab tear-filled eyes. The vets beamed broadly and offered congratulations. Miranda straightened from under his arm, turned toward the nearby handlers.

  “Let’s give Betty plenty of space and time. Right now, she’ll be territorial and protective of her calf. Remain alert. Clean her pen only when she’s in the pool.” Miranda raised her head at the sight of two interns and a security guard racing toward them.

  “Dr. Logan, Dr. Logan. Ben’s got Ashley trapped in his pen. She’s hurt. Maybe bad.” Fear drained the color from Miranda’s face. Every day she stressed the importance of safety and the need to follow procedures. In Africa, hippos claimed more human lives than any other animal, including lions and elephants. She’d noted Ben’s change in behavior since isolating him from Betty, had visited him daily to provide comfort and reassurance. The guard stopped panting long enough to double her fear.

  “EMT’s are on the way and I notified the police.”

  She broke for the indoor enclosure and quickly outpaced everyone rushing behind her. She continued past the Hippo-Drome’s plaza and entrance to the rear service area where a small crowd milled about. Security cleared a path for her. “Did you evacuate everyone?” The head guard nodded. Miranda turned to the arriving handlers. “Wait for me here. Don’t come in unless I call you.” She noted Greg’s look of terror and turned before it infected her confidence. With a soft whoosh, the door closed behind her. The normally boisterous interior made its silence eerie. She padded toward Ben’s stall and began to sing in a low, soothing voice.

  Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top

  When the wind blows the cradle will rock.

  When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall

  And down will come baby, cradle and all.

  A 3.96 GPA had brought her to the zoo as a fresh-faced twenty-year old sophomore from the mountains of western North Carolina where she studied at Mars Hill College. That the college represented the country’s preeminent and most rigorous academy for zoological study, made the grade achievement more impressive. All pregnant mothers, even hippos, warranted special treatment and her summer internship’s arduous duties included removing gigantic poop from wherever Ben’s mom dropped it. Three days after her arrival, Ben’s mother went into labor and died during birth. The event so traumatized an idealistic intern, it brought tears whenever a mother survived an offspring’s delivery.

  A desperate race to keep the orphan alive began. One after another, the herd’s nursing cows rejected the infant in favor of their own calves. Unwilling to chance a defensive mother killing Ben, the staff pooled their Arts and Crafts skills to cobble together a makeshift hippo dummy. They hoped the fake river horse would prevent Ben imprinting on a human. Miranda had to lie inside a hot, immobile, laughable replica through which her gloved hand held a bottle for Ben to feed.

  But plastic, aluminum, cloth, and paint stood no chance against sixty million years of sensory evolution. Ben studiously ignored his foster mother until Miranda crawled inside. If she came within fifty yards, Ben began bellowing and paralleled her movements from within the enclosure. In her absence, he remained motionless in the pool. Only his eyes and nostrils jutting from the surface revealed his location. If the other calves tried to frolic, he’d just move away.

  Summer’s end brought her before the Director and managing staff to avert another crisis. “You know as well as I, hippo calves wean for up to eighteen months. Ben has defeated all your attempts to prevent what has happened. He won’t feed from anyone else. To leave him after just two months would be cruel beyond description. Are your rules so precious you’ll accept an emotionally and psychologically damaged animal rather than violate them? Rules are not laws. They serve as guidelines until prudence and good judgment dictate the need to break them.”

  Against all procedures, precedents, and training the Director relented. After a phone call from him, the Mars Hill Dean of Academics agreed to arrange for Miranda to continue her studies remotely and the zoo’s managing staff volunteered to mentor her through the challenging coursework. When she returned for her senior year, Ben had outgrown his cousins and if not exactly an extrovert, tolerated their bonding attempts when he joined them for a swim. Six years passed before she returned with a PhD in hand and a firm employment offer as Deputy Director for Animal Care.

  She shook her head. All that schooling meant nothing. In a few more feet, Organismal Biology, Chordate Anatomy, or Vertebrate Taxonomy would be useless against a two-ton animal that could crush her with a swipe of its head, trample her underfoot, or slice her in half with its foot-long incisors.

  Miranda continued singing the lullaby Ben had always heard as a calf drifting off to dreamland. At his stall, the open gate to the pool area stood as mute testimony to a procedure horribly violated. Ashley lay on the ground covered in straw only feet from a rock-still Ben whose ears had flipped backward to track Miranda’s approach. She gave his rump a strong pat and stroked her hand along his flanks as she moved closer to his massive head. “Easy, Ben. Easy, Ben. Easy, Ben.” He blasted a snort and shifted his weight but otherwise remained calm. Miranda scratched his ear and continued her slow approach to the prone Ashley.

  She squatted next to the terrified intern who moved to speak but Miranda hushed her with an index finger to the lips. Her neck hairs stood on end. How would Ben react when she tried to move Ashley out the pen? “Are you having trouble breathing?” Ashley nodded. “You probably have a few broken ribs and I’m sure your arm is broken. I know you’re in a lot of pain, but you’re going to have to be brave for me, Ashley. Can you do that?” Ashley squeezed the tears from her eyes and nodded again.

  Behind them Ben snorted and shuffled his feet. Miranda turned, horrified eyes widened. Three policemen with rifles raised and cocked entered the pen area. Miranda strained not to scream. “Easy, Ben. Easy, Ben. Easy, Ben.” She rose slowly to move between the police and the hippo. She spread her arms and legs wide in a protective stance. “Easy, Ben.” She maintained the same low sing-song but changed the lyrics. “Get out of here. Get out
of here. Get out of here. You’re endangering my intern. Get out of here. Get out of here.” Her calm, soothing voice belied the determined fierceness blazing from her eyes. With Miranda between them and the target, the officers recognized their impasse and backed away. Miranda felt her knees go weak. She returned to her intern.

  “You have to stand up, Ashley. I will help you but it’s going to hurt like hell. You have to be strong and not make a sound. I know you can do it, Ashley. Are you ready?” She bit her lip and nodded.” Miranda gripped the hand and shoulder of her good arm. “Here we go. One, two, three.”

  The young girl’s mouth opened. For a moment Miranda thought she would scream and startle the hippo. She struggled to her feet in obvious agony but made no sound. Miranda guided her out. Ben made no move.

  Outside, the zoo’s gathered staff broke into cheers and applause. While the EMT’s placed Ashley on a gurney and loaded her into the ambulance, Miranda gave instructions to secure the pen area. She waited for the medics to finish stabilizing her intern then clambered in. Miranda brushed a hair from Ashley’s forehead, smiled, and held her hand. Before the rear door closed, Greg and the cameraman rushed up. “Smile. You’re going to be a front-page hero.” She glowered at him.

  CHAPTER 3 Inside an Enigma

  Clifford Easton pulled his glasses farther down his patrician nose, flipped past the Miranda-Logan-splashed front page. Inside, the Columbus Dispatch had even recounted her exploits as a young intern, hyped with several photos of her precious hippo. Already something of a celebrity since that incident, now she had become a star. He grudgingly admitted the publicity had to be a net positive for the zoo but would also make dealing with her more difficult. A sigh accompanied the page turn. A deeper one escaped when it revealed more stories detailing the rescue. His eyes rolled at every mention of heroic.

  Not for the first time he railed against his predecessor who’d given her free rein to do as she pleased. Her continued defiance made for a public safety lawsuit-in-waiting and undermined his authority. This incident only confirmed a ticking time bomb worked on his staff. She spared no opportunity to ignore his directives but not in an insubordinate, disrespectful way. She listened politely, promised compliance, pledged her support, and then ignored him. Her many friends on the zoo’s advisory board maintained a protective blanket over their star zoologist but he smiled at the thought manna had just dropped from heaven.

  “Mr. Easton, your 2pm, Dr. Logan, is here.” Clifford pressed his intercom.

  “Thank you, Pam. Send her in please.

  Outside, Pam smiled at Miranda and whispered conspiratorially. “I cheer when you stand up to his crap. He’s such an arrogant jerk.”

  “It’s not hard. His gender limits him.” Pam stifled a giggle and buzzed her in.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Logan. You look none the worse for wear after your heroic exploits. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Clifford. Work keeping you up late?” Easton sighed.

  “It never ends. Solve one problem and another pops up. Speaking of which, have you determined how that hippo entered a stall with a staff member inside?”

  “Ashley’s going to be fine, thank you. As it turns out, someone entered a wrong time on the maintenance schedule. The computer flashed a message the gate needed opening and the on-duty technician pressed Ok. I’ve ordered an immediate suspension of all electronic monitoring and my two deputies are re-implementing the old manual system.”

  Clifford maintained an outward calm but seethed inside. “Shouldn’t you have consulted me before making changes to a system the zoo spent $4 million implementing?”

  “Well, as you indicated, you’re up late with one problem after another. I thought you’d welcome my easing your workload.” Easton stared at her.

  “Dr. Logan. You cannot conduct your affairs as if you’re running an independent operation.”

  “I’m working as part of a team. When each member does the job they’re responsible for, the entire team benefits.” Easton stared at her.

  “We have a chain of command here, Dr. Logan. It exists to facilitate two-way communication.”

  “I can see how my actions might be interpreted as undercutting the chain of command. I do apologize, Clifford. I assure you I had no such intention.”

  Easton leaned back in his chair and allowed a smile to grow. “I’m placing you on paid administrative leave effective three days from now. The Central Intelligence Agency specifically requested your services. The country has need of your skills. I didn’t think you’d object.” Easton almost squirmed with pleasure. She couldn’t very well ask why he hadn’t consulted her.

  “Were they afraid to ask me themselves?”

  “They tried, Dr. Logan. Apparently you don’t return calls from anyone not on your contact list. The CIA Director had to call his friend at the San Diego Zoo who in turn called me. In fact,” Easton glanced at his watch, “two agency representatives should be here any moment to meet you.”

  “I don’t know anything about the CIA or national security. That’s why we elect Presidents. Suppose I refuse?”

  “Dr. Logan. This is a high profile situation. My friend impressed upon me the urgent need to cooperate. I’m a San Diego native. It’s been my ambition to become Director of its zoo. My friend will be retiring soon and a letter of recommendation from him would go a long way to making it a reality. If I do, it’s a foregone conclusion you will assume the directorship and then run Columbus any way you want. So you see, Dr. Logan—Miranda—we’re in bed together. Might as well enjoy it.”

  Miranda sat rock quiet, her expression inscrutable. That’s why he had “volunteered” her. He couldn’t afford a refusal. She still might. Miranda leaned back in the chair, crossed her legs. A cobra-like smile grew. “Do not presume, Mr. Easton, our interests intertwine. My only priorities are the animals under my care. If and when the directorship becomes an ambition, time is on my side.” The intercom buzzed.

  “Your 2:30 is here, Mr. Easton. A Ms. Fran Dawkins and a Mr. Bob Cross.”

  “Thank you, Pam. Please send them in.”

  Both rose, curious who might enter. What did would not have passed a Hollywood casting director’s scrutiny. The two wore blue, nondescript, inexpensive suits. Looks or attire, neither presented a memorable appearance. Clifford conducted the introductions and bade them sit. Cross declined anything to drink. Dawkins asked for water. Miranda followed suit. Clifford buzzed Pam for the refreshments and a cup of coffee. When she exited, Clifford nodded toward the case officers. Cross turned to Miranda.

  “First off, Dr. Logan, let me say not only are your credentials impressive, but everyone we contacted acknowledged you as the country’s preeminent zoologist.” Clifford almost rolled his eyes. “We’re very grateful to have you onboard.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cross, but let me make it clear I haven’t agreed or disagreed to anything yet.” Clifford shot her a look. Cross nodded toward his partner. Dawkins reached into a briefcase and pulled out a folder. She extracted a photograph and passed it to Miranda.

  “Can you recognize the bird that made this print, Dr. Logan?” Miranda barely glanced at it before handing it back.

  “It’s a fraud.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Generally speaking, birds have four toes. Their habitat dictates the arrangement. Perching birds have three pointing forward and one backward enabling them to grasp a limb or branch. Woodpeckers also have four but two point forward and two backward permitting them to move around a tree trunk forward, backward, or sideways. Wading and water birds will leave a four-toed print, three forward one back but water birds will also have webbing between the toes. Ground or flightless birds, like chickens, will leave a three-toed print because the fourth, while present, is high on the foot and will leave no print or has atrophied. The only exception is the ostrich which has a two-toed print. No bird has two toes pointing forward and one back.”

  Dawkins passed her another photo. “What can you tell us abo
ut this one? It showed two prints in stride. One had a ruler next to it indicating 21”. Miranda did a quick calculation. “Again some kind of fraud or prank. A bird with this stride would be six to seven feet tall and weigh, I’m guessing here but it’s a good one, three to four hundred pounds.”

  “Would you comment on this gene sequence?” Miranda took a little longer to study it. Puzzled at first, understanding dawned. She handed the document back.

  “The platform that performed this DNA sequence must have malfunctioned. All gene expressions result from the four letters ACTG: adenine, cytosine, thymine, and guanine. There is nothing in the scientific literature suggesting the existence of a fifth.”

  “Would you take a look at this photo, please? And I do apologize, Dr. Logan, but it’s important.” Miranda gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. A nude man hung from a wall with his face pressed sideways against it. Somehow pasted to the shoulder blades, left arm to right and right arm to left, the crudely severed limbs pointed upward, but the forearms, bent at the elbow pointed out and down. The arrangement formed a bizarre image of a winged man. Miranda’s temper flared. “This has to be some type of sick prank. What is the meaning of all this?”

  “I appreciate this may be somewhat disturbing, Dr. Logan, but we are trying to answer that very question. Take a look at this photo.” It showed the man in close up relief. He appeared Asian. Given the obvious violence endured, he had a peaceful expression. The skin on his face’s left side, stretched by the hanging weight, appeared glued to a clear substance. Dawkins followed up. “The clear material you see is what produced the DNA report. We performed three separate sequences on three separate machines. The results remained identical.”

  Miranda’s curiosity spiked. She returned to the photo showing a stride. “What is the substance surrounding these prints?”

  “The victim’s blood. We believe the person responsible for his gruesome mutilation shot him twice in the chest and once in the head. It’s uncertain if he was still alive when something removed his arms. I say something because the strength needed to manually tear off arms is tremendous.”