Black Mountain: An Alex Hunter Novel 4

by Greig Beck

  Matt got the drift: lower the expectations; go easy on the details for the moment. He put on his most businesslike expression. ‘Charles is right. It might be nothing more than an escaped chimpanzee, or some sort of weird-looking ground squirrel. But we promised the police chief we’d do our best to identify it.’

  Sarah’s eyebrow went up another notch. ‘Uh-huh . . . and is this ground squirrel responsible for the recent thefts of cows and domestic pets, or potentially involved in the attacks on the farms recently?’

  ‘There’s also a lion loose from the circus,’ Matt spluttered. ‘That’s probably resp–’

  Sarah leaned forward. ‘Lion’s dead – the police shot it.’

  Matt slowly turned to Charles. Charles just shrugged and pointed to him with a flat, open hand – over to you, you’re doin’ great was the implication. Matt laughed. He shut his eyes for a moment, rubbed them with a thumb and finger, then leaned towards Sarah.

  ‘Oookay, we don’t really believe it’s a squirrel or fugitive chimp. We think there may be some form of early hominid running around on the mountain, and we’d like to try to determine if it’s one we know of or something completely new.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Matt stared at her for several seconds, torn between telling her everything and wanting to hold back on some of their wilder suspicions until they could prove or disprove them.

  Sarah stared back levelly, and the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. ‘Listen up, the pair of you. I’ve lived in this town for most of my life. I love the place, and anything that threatens it or its folk gets my full attention. And one more thing before you start bullshitting: I’m quite a well-respected professor of biology who’s pretty highly regarded in the international arena on matters of cellular biology, environmental gene mutations and a dozen other organic micro-matter subjects. Gentlemen, you have two choices. One: you can try and snow me, and you’ll be out that door in seconds. Or two: tell me everything, and I may be able to help.’ She turned from one to the other, looking them each in the eye. ‘Your call, boys.’

  Matt looked again at Charles, who nodded slowly. ‘We need her,’ he said. ‘Her and her sequencer.’

  Matt compressed his lips, then turned to Sarah. ‘Look, there’ve been stories about something in these mountains for hundreds if not thousands of years. Not just in these mountains, but all over the world.’ He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, preparing for her ridicule. ‘We think we may have a tissue fragment from a mega-hominid . . . a living mega-hominid.’ He gritted his teeth, waiting for the mocking laughter.

  Instead, she slid her chair across the floor to her computer and began to type. When she’d found what she was looking for, she half-turned the screen for Matt and Charles to see. ‘As I said, I’ve lived here for a long time, and I know every creature in these parts, big and small. But in the last few weeks . . . well, I’ve begun to suspect that there’s something else out there. Something that doesn’t fit.’ She started typing again. ‘For several years now, we’ve had microphones placed around the slopes to collect ornithological data for a number of the local societies. But recently we’ve picked up something else.’

  She hit a key and adjusted the volume. The booming whoops and grunts were eerie in the small room.

  Charles sat forward, his mouth open. When it stopped, he leaped out of his chair. ‘Play it again.’

  She hit the replay, and folded her arms. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it . . . except it reminds me of something at the same time. I just can’t place it.’

  Charles turned the computer around, then paused. ‘May I?’ He didn’t wait for a response, just started typing furiously. ‘Listen.’ From the computer came a series of hoots, whoops, snorts and grunts.

  ‘You see, you need a certain shaped larynx without vocal cords to create those sounds,’ he said to Sarah. ‘Also a heavy jaw, and a deep barrel-chest.’ He played the sounds again and swung the screen around for Matt to see. ‘God bless you, Dian Fossey.’

  On the screen was an image of a black mountain gorilla. Its dark, human-like eyes stared out from under a rubber-thick brow ridge.

  Sarah’s frown deepened. ‘You think it’s a gorilla up there?’

  Charles smiled and shook his head slowly. ‘No, and not by a million years of evolution. But if it is what I think it is, an escaped lion would have been a lot simpler to deal with . . . and to explain.’

  FOURTEEN

  The boat glided in towards the beach and the fisherman leaped out to walk the bow up onto the sand. Adira and Alex picked up their small bags and jumped out, then Alex turned to help pull the boat clear of the water. It was quiet save for the tiny waves shushing onto the fine grains of sand. Adira watched as Alex lifted his chin and inhaled the scents of the ocean, before scanning the dark shoreline.

  The little open boat had brought them from Eilat, the southernmost town in Israel, to Taba at the start of the Gulf of Aqaba in Egypt. It had taken only twenty minutes to cross the six miles of glass-like ocean, but the trip had cost 1000 US dollars – and there would be much more expense to come. They needed international travel documents, credit cards and new identities. Adira had a contact in Egypt who was one of the best in the Middle East. He, like the fisherman, was part of the large black-market network that operated under the noses of the Israeli and Egyptian authorities. Terrorists used them to get into Israel . . . and now she was using them to get out.

  She turned to the waiting fisherman. ‘Shukran,’ she said, and held out the wad of American notes.

  His weathered hand reached for it, but she held on tight, causing the old man to frown and look up into her eyes.

  He grunted. ‘The car will come. It is my cousin, Bennu, I trust him. As arranged, he will take you as far as Sharm el-Sheikh at the Red Sea, and then . . .’ He shrugged and tugged again on the notes.

  Adira still held fast, examining his eyes for any deception. She spoke in a low, even tone. ‘If he does not come, then the next time you see me, it will not only be the money I take from you.’

  She let go, and the old man nodded, but Adira could see the hint of a smirk on his face.

  Alex helped push the boat off the sand for its return trip. They both saw the small illumination across the dark water as the old man flipped open a mobile phone and started to talk. Adira’s stomach knotted – she couldn’t believe the risks she was taking. She always thought any plan through from both a strategic and tactical perspective – it was one of the reasons she had stayed alive so long in Mossad’s elite Metsada unit. But her decision to help Alex leave Israel had been made in a state of panic. She knew that in doing so, she was betraying her country, her uncle and everything she’d believed in her entire life. The truth was, the woman beneath the lethal exterior wanted a life with Alex Hunter, no matter how remote a fantasy that seemed. At the same time, she was continuing to betray him and his fragmented memory. He already knew she’d lied to him. What would happen if she were proved a liar again? What of her fantasy about a future together then?

  It was impossible to know how this crazy plan would turn out. She had to believe that what she was doing was right. She could justify her actions to her country, to her uncle – after all, if she got the answers they wanted about the Arcadian project, then all would be forgiven. In her world, the end always justified the means. Today’s unorthodox actions were tomorrow’s textbook lessons . . . as long as they worked.

  She reached out and gripped Alex’s upper arm and squeezed. ‘Come,’ she said. She was smart, she would work things out.

  Alex smiled and put his hand on her shoulder and she felt its warmth on her skin. What I’m doing is right, she thought. Sometimes logic doesn’t matter.

  *

  General Meir Shavit watched the surveillance film of his niece and Alex Hunter buying tickets for the domestic flight from Tel Aviv to Eilat. They’d paid cash, and the available CCTV footage had lost them the moment they left the airport. Shavit knew that given Adira’s abilities,
it was sheer luck that they had managed to catch her on film at all.

  Sheer luck, or a deliberate tactic? He tapped his chin with a cigarette lighter. Could she have doubled back into the airport and taken another domestic flight? Or were she and Hunter on an international flight to somewhere else in the Middle East, or even beyond? Or maybe they had sailed across into Egypt or Saudi Arabia? Too many options, he thought.

  He rubbed a hand over his face and looked at the image of his niece. What are you up to, Addy? You think you are in love? You think that because one young man shakes you up, everything you have stood for is now worth nothing? Prove me wrong, Addy, before the walls close in, he thought.

  He shook his head and watched the film loop over again. He stopped it and focused in on the young man with her, then gave a long, morose sigh. ‘Addy, if you were with anyone else, I might turn a blind eye and let you run . . .’

  There was a soft knock on the door. The general’s assistant opened it, allowing a tall, dark-haired man to enter. The man saluted and stood at attention.

  ‘At ease, Salamon,’ Shavit said. He waved the man to a pair of heavy leather chairs, and retrieved a folder from his desk before taking the chair opposite Salamon’s. ‘You are well?’ he asked, smiling.

  Salamon’s back was straight and he sat uncomfortably in the general’s presence. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Shavit nodded and continued to smile. ‘Your Kidon team is available?’

  Salamon shifted slightly, the bulge of muscles playing beneath his suit. ‘All finished up from previous assignments and ready for duty, sir.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Shavit lit a cigarette, sucked in a deep lungful of smoke and blew the plume towards the ceiling. His eyes returned to Salamon. ‘I have a small problem. Maybe only a personal one, but it needs urgent, incisive . . . and delicate action.’

  Shavit handed across the folder and watched as the other man skimmed its contents, quickly and professionally. His hands, although large and with heavily callused knuckles, were nimble.

  ‘Captain Senesh might be having a breakdown,’ Shavit added softly. ‘I need you to retrieve her.’

  Salamon’s head jerked up from the file. ‘Adira Senesh?’

  ‘Yes, your colleague in Metsada.’ Shavit motioned at a photograph of Alex Hunter in the file. ‘This man may have corrupted her. Bring her back.’

  Salamon’s eyes narrowed as he examined the man in the photograph. ‘It will not be easy. If she does not want to come with us, she will fight.’

  Shavit blew more smoke into the air. ‘Bring her back alive, Salamon.’

  Salamon nodded and put the picture back into the file. ‘What of him . . . if he tries to interfere?’

  Shavit looked at the young man sitting in front of him. Salamon Eitan, head of the Kidon squad, was his secret weapon; his unit the more brutal side of the secretive Mossad machine. ‘Bring him back . . . intact. Alive if possible, but his life is of secondary importance. Read the file in detail, Salamon; it will not be an easy mission. Take your squad, because he may also resist, and he will be a problem.’

  ‘Not for me,’ Salamon said, and bent his head to continue reading.

  FIFTEEN

  The beast threw the body to the ground, then crouched beside it and sniffed. A thousand rich scents filled its nostrils, almost overpowering its sensory system, which had been dulled by years of living and hunting in the dark. It lifted the small, broken creature, testing its weight and fragility. The limbs flopped and the head rolled on a now boneless neck. The creature held the head up and peered into the bloody face. The eyes had rolled back so only the whites showed, and the mouth hung open in a silent scream.

  It reached out with one large, blunt finger, enormous against the prey’s small face, and pulled first one pupil down, then the next. It stare, transfixed, into the eyes of the kind that had supposedly driven its people deep into the mountain and imprisoned them there. It snorted. There was nothing to fear from this pitiful creature; the legends must be untrue.

  The body was old and its meat would be stringy, but still ambrosia after countless years of living on blind fish, fat grub-like insects and branching lichens. It would make a fitting contribution to the feast to come.

  *

  ‘Okay, what have we got?’ Matt asked.

  Charles and Sarah were working on devices at opposite ends of the laboratory. Charles turned to give Matt an incredulous look, said, ‘Come back in a week,’ then immediately returned to keying in parameters for his analysis.

  Matt raised his eyebrows. ‘An hour okay?’

  ‘Deal.’

  Charles rushed over to a spinning centrifuge, switched it off so he could look at the separating residues, made a note on a pad, restarted it, then sped back to his computer. Matt grinned. He knew his friend was trying to do several weeks’ work in a few hours all by himself; he also knew he was loving every minute of it. Charles bounced over to the digital microscope that was feeding magnified images onto his screen, then quickly noted data from another computer screen about a slice of the tissue sample that had been fed into the mass spectrometer.

  While Charles was a turbulent ocean of activity, Sarah, at the other end of the laboratory, was a pool of calm. She lifted her eyes from her own screen and acknowledged Matt with a slight tilt of her head.

  Matt put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and sauntered closer. ‘Can I help?’

  She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Then a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘I don’t know . . . can you help me?’ Her smile widened. ‘And how come you didn’t ask Charles if you could help him? He seems to be doing most of the work, and with a lot of unfamiliar equipment. I’m getting my software to do all mine for me.’

  Matt looked briefly over his shoulder at Charles, then back to Sarah. He gave her a sheepish smile. ‘He’s more comfortable working by himself. Besides, by helping you, I’m also helping him. See, we’re all happy.’

  She laughed, and pulled a disbelieving face. ‘Okay, sure. Come around here and I’ll show you what I’m doing. Wouldn’t hurt to have someone act as a sounding board.’

  ‘I’m your man.’

  Matt moved behind her chair and looked at the split screen. Dense rows of figures rapidly scrolled up the left side, and every now and then a line of data was automatically extracted and placed in a table on the right side.

  Sara pointed at the table data. ‘I’m performing a low-level analysis of the sample’s DNA, and looking at the differences and similarities between it and that of any other known hominids. At the very least, I’ll be able to tell you what it isn’t, and then maybe what it could be. The gene sampling program I’ve developed makes use of the mitochondrial DNA to track its descent back along its maternal line, and the new algorithms I’ve coded extend that lineage reach-back significantly.’

  Matt bent closer to the screen but didn’t understand it any better. He could decipher hundreds of languages, some that hadn’t been spoken for millennia, but when it came to computer stuff, forget it. Nevertheless, he nodded sagely and asked the only question he could think of.

  ‘Yeah, Charles mentioned something about that. But, um, why not use both the maternal and paternal sources?’

  Surprising him, she nodded. ‘Fair question, Matthew. Bottom line is, if you want staying power, stick with a woman.’ She kept a straight face for a few seconds, then laughed softly, showing a line of near perfect teeth. ‘Got ya, Kearns. Fact is, the paternal mitochondrial DNA is destroyed at fertilisation, so the offspring only inherits the mother’s mitochondrial DNA, creating an unbroken maternal link to the near and also long-distant past. We can easily track back hundreds of thousands of years, and now, with the new software and the computing power of my FLX, many more again. We’ve already found that a common ancestor of both modern man and the Neanderthals existed 500,000 years ago.’

  Matt was impressed, and let it show.

  Then he leaned a little closer to her screen, giving the impress
ion of being more interested in it than her answer to his next question. ‘So, Sarah Marie Sommer née Peterson, how’s married life in particular and Asheville life in general?’

  She snorted. ‘Married life is fantastic . . . the way it’s portrayed in the glossy magazines. In real life . . . weeell. Ever heard the saying, Marriages are made in heaven? No one ever adds the second part, which goes something like this: Marriages are made in heaven but suffered on a more temporal plane. Basically, once you come down from the heady heights of the champagne and lovemaking and have to deal with the daily routine, illness, fights and boredom . . . well, things aren’t quite so rosy.’ She looked at him and shrugged. ‘Karl was a fantastic guy, but one day we both woke up and looked at each other and realised we didn’t want to grow old together.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Sarah.’ Matt put his hand on her shoulder and tried hard to look sympathetic. Inside, he felt like giving her a high-five. ‘What was he like – Karl, I mean? Is he still around?’

  ‘No, his family are Swiss – known as the Basel Sommers, owners of the company that makes Sportsuhr wristwatches. Karl’s being groomed to take over one day. I met him at a party in New York – he really stood out: tall, blond, broad-shouldered . . . and rich. You know the type. He had a real magnetism about him.’

  Matt snorted. ‘Sounds like a real loser.’ He regretted the petulant response the instant it left his lips and hurried to add, ‘I mean for letting you go.’

  Sarah dismissed the flattery with a slight shake of her head. ‘Yeah well, turned out we did have one thing in common – we both loved Karl Sommer.’ She half-shrugged in an I-don’t-care gesture. ‘Anyway, I’ve been single four years now and I love it. I can do what I want when I want, date who I want . . .’ She lifted both her eyebrows at him and smiled, then glanced at Charles.