The Devil's Claw

by Nick Pignatelli

  “Well, sir, our story is pretty straightforward.” Vought read from his pad. “The parents trespassed on government property with the intent of spreading the ashes of Mr. Pruitt’s deceased father on a lake that had once been accessible before BoDex acquired the land. They were attacked by wild bears that had strayed on to the property through an undetected breach in the fence. Unfortunately, neither survived their injuries. Their daughter got alarmed and ran into the woods. You dispatched your personal detail to find her. The MacGregors found her first and your team tracked her to their resort. She is back here and she is fine. End of story.”

  “Sounds airtight,” Attwood said. “What did the background check tell us?”

  Vought flipped to the next page. “Regular working people. Lived in a small town near Albany. We have contacted the appropriate officials and they have located Jennifer Pruitt’s next of kin.”

  The golden morning poured through the bedroom window of the Visiting Guest Quarters and settled on Sara and Jennifer, sleeping softly under the warm blankets of the king-size bed. Jack watched them from the comfort of the easy chair and ottoman where he had slept the night away. He stifled a yawn.

  Watching the young girl sleep, Jack thought of how well Jennifer had handled the death of both parents and pursuit by wild bears through the woods yesterday. Would the tragedy collapse in on her now that there was time for it all to sink in?

  The first thing Sara, Jack, and Jennifer did when they were ushered into the plush room last night was to get cleaned up. Hot meals arrived shortly after, followed by a visit from General Attwood. With him were Arnie Vought and Dr. Julia Talbot. Vought was there to get some personal information from Jennifer and the MacGregors, while Talbot examined Jennifer, then checked the bump on Jack’s head. Before Attwood left with his entourage, he promised to meet with them the next morning.

  Sara had spoken with the young girl well into the night, offering comfort and consolation, until Jennifer drifted off to sleep. Jack had leaned back in the big comfortable chair intending to close his eyes for just a few minutes. Those few minutes turned into hours.

  Jack thought about yesterday, still trying to fit the pieces together. Someone knocked softly on the door. It was an attractive young woman in a business suit. Jack was struck by her piercing blue eyes.

  “Good morning, Mr. MacGregor. I’m Joy Eriksson, General Attwood’s personal aide.”

  “Morning, Miss Eriksson.”

  “Please, call me Joy. General Attwood would like to know if you, your wife, and Jennifer can meet with him in two hours.”

  “Uh, sure. Miss, uh, Joy.”

  “Very well, Mr. MacGregor. Someone will be here to pick you up.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Jack replied. “Thanks.”

  Joy Eriksson flashed a brilliant white smile, then strode off, her black hair swishing around her shoulders.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable.” General Attwood motioned toward a couch. Jennifer, Sara, and Jack sat down. Arnie Vought and Dr. Julia Talbot settled into easy chairs.

  General Attwood stepped around to the front of his desk. “Jennifer, what happened yesterday was a horrible thing,” Attwood began, “maybe the worst thing you will ever experience. Believe me when I say I would give anything to be able to go back and make sure it didn’t happen.” Jennifer was silent. “Your Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Ron are on their way to pick you up. They have offered to take care of you. Are you okay with that?”

  “I guess so. They’re nice.”

  “Good. While they are saddened by the news of your mom and dad, they are glad you’re okay.” Attwood paused. “Do you have any questions?”

  “I just want to go home. I miss my mom and dad.” A tear crept down her cheek.

  Attwood didn’t know what else to say. “Arnie, would you please get that photograph from my desk?”

  “Yes, sir.” Vought retrieved a small framed photograph. Attwood held it in his hands, staring silently at the image. He handed the photograph to Jennifer.

  “That’s Jeff, my son,” Attwood said.

  “You must be very proud of him,” Sara interjected.

  “I am,” Attwood replied. “I was.” He hesitated. “My only child was killed during one of our military operations in the Middle East.”

  Jennifer handed the photograph back to Attwood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “You see, Jennifer, I lost someone incredibly close to me too. We just go on somehow because, well, that’s what they would want us to do, even if it feels impossible.”

  Attwood gently placed the photograph back on the desk, carefully adjusting its position. He gazed at his late son’s image. He had not been able to save his son, but he had decided to save this young girl from an uncertain future—by making sure she never wanted for anything.

  “Jennifer, would you mind stepping into the outer office with Dr. Talbot for a few minutes? I have to speak with Sara and Jack, and then you can come back in.” Jennifer looked uncertain. “I promise to be quick.”

  “I received a call from Sheriff Jarvis this morning. He told me there was a fire at your resort last night.”

  “What?” Jack blurted out. “What happened?”

  “I’m told it was not a total loss, and no one was hurt. That’s what’s important, right?”

  “I guess. It’s just that…we’ve worked so long to restore it.”

  “I understand and I intend to make things right for all the trouble you’ve been put through,” Attwood said. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met? I need to be assured that, for the sake of national security, you will never divulge anything regarding yesterday’s events. It was an unfortunate lack of judgment that never should have happened. To publicize it would do more harm.”

  “We gave you our word yesterday,” Sara said. “We can be trusted.”

  “I believe you,” Attwood replied. “I would like to show my appreciation.”

  “We’re listening,” said Sara.

  “Let’s discuss your resort. We would be willing to purchase the property, as is. We have a figure in mind that we believe is fair.”

  “General, what makes you think we want to sell?” Sara asked.

  “Well, with the right offer, you would be able to get a fresh start someplace else. And in light of the damage...”

  Arnie Vought rose from his chair and placed his pad on the coffee table in front of the MacGregors. He circled a string of numbers, then rotated the pad so Sara and Jack could read it.

  “Are you serious!” Jack said.

  “Is it not enough?” Attwood asked.

  “Just the opposite. This is almost ten times what we paid for it.”

  “Well, your time and effort in remodeling the property are certainly things you should be compensated for, along with the inconvenience and emotional distress from yesterday’s events.”

  “I understand that, but, still…” Jack said.

  “In addition,” Vought said, “you would be allowed to take whatever you want from the property, and we would pay all of your relocation expenses.”

  “It just seems too good to be true,” Jack said.

  “All in how you look at it,” Attwood replied. “The question is, are you interested?”

  Jack’s smile said it all. “Looks like you just bought yourself a mountain getaway,” Sara said.

  Sheriff Al Jarvis sat in The Woozy Bear Tavern, a cold glass of frothy beer resting in front of him on the highly polished knotty pine bar. Off duty and dressed in a blue plaid shirt and jeans, he stared at the image on the wall-mounted television. The attractive young reporter, indentified on the screen as Katie Lynn, was only a few miles northeast of the tavern. Next to her stood an older man in a weathered camouflage jacket and an orange vest, a tattered red baseball cap pushed back on his head. He cradled a scoped hunting rifle in the crook of his arm.

  “Can you turn that up?” Jarvis asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” the bartender replied. He slid a small bowl of salted
peanuts over, then picked up the remote.

  “And just in case you were starting to get bored with the unexplained sightings that have flooded this section of the Adirondacks, here’s something new.” Katie Lynn turned to the hunter. “Mr. Hewlett, not only do you lay claim to one of the earliest local sightings of Bigfoot—or Sasquatch to the aficionados out there—you say that last night you actually saw the elusive Adirondack Wraith.” The reporter smiled. “Now, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the Adirondack Wraith, he—or she, is said to be a ghost that appeared around the same time as the Bigfoot sightings. The Adirondack Wraith has been blamed by local hunters and campers for a number of thefts but no one has actually seen him until now.” Lynn tilted the microphone toward the hunter. “You say you actually saw this Adirondack Wraith?”

  “Um, yes.” His name appeared on the screen: Joe Hewlett.

  “And exactly what did you see?”

  “Well, while I was out hunting, I hung my backpack from a tree. When I got back to it, the backpack, that is, I saw him, digging through it.”

  “And?” prompted Lynn.

  “I yelled and he stopped and stared at me, then he grabbed some of my things and ran off.”

  “And then you…” she said, trying to keep the interview going.

  “Well, I grabbed my backpack to see what he’d stolen, and that’s when it happened.”

  “That’s when what happened?”

  “Well, I thought for sure he’d run off, but he just kind of popped up behind me. Put a damn knife to my throat.” Hewlett paused. “Oh! Can I say damn on TV?” She nodded. “Big knife too! Like one of those Rambo knives.”

  Al Jarvis turned to the man on the bar stool next to him. Jarvis took a handful of peanuts from the bowl and tossed them in his mouth. The other man stared at his beer, running his finger through the drops of condensation crawling slowly down the side of the glass. “First time on TV, huh, Joe?” Jarvis asked. He was trying not to laugh.

  “Well, you sure didn’t have to be a damn detective to figure that out, did ya, Al,” Joe Hewlett growled.

  On the television, Katie Lynn continued the questioning. “Mr. Hewlett, you said he. You’re sure it was a he and not a she?”

  “Hell, yes, it was a he,” Hewlett replied. “Had a bit of a beard on him.”

  “And what did he look like?”

  “Well, couldn’t tell much, really. I think his clothes was black and all ripped up, kinda like rags almost. Oh, and he could have been wearing an animal skin too. Might have been a bear or a deer. Hard to tell since it happened so fast.”

  “So you think it was a man, not a ghost or spirit as others have said?”

  “Sure didn’t feel like a ghost with that knife to my throat.”

  “One last question, Mr. Hewlett. Did you try speaking with him?”

  “Nope. Didn’t seem like he was in any mood to be discussing anything at the moment.” Al Jarvis and the bartender chuckled.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hewlett.” The camera zoomed in on Katie Lynn, cutting Hewlett out of the picture. “And there you have it. Possibly the first contact with the elusive Adirondack Wraith. Whether man or spirit, we still can’t say. This is Katie Lynn, reporting for—”

  Hewlett’s face leaned back into the frame. “Now that I think about it, he did ask me something.”

  Lynn stopped. “The Adirondack Wraith spoke to you?”

  “Yep. I forgot until just now.”

  Lynn looked amused. “And what did this man-spirit say?”

  “Didn’t make much sense, really. He had that knife to my throat, and then he whispered in my ear, Where are the Centurions? Have you seen them? Now, I didn’t know why he was asking me about some dead Roman soldiers, so I said I didn’t know. And then he was gone, just like that.”

  The reporter faced the camera. “Well, it seems the Adirondack Wraith may be a bit of a history buff. This is Katie Lynn, reporting for—”

  Al Jarvis spoke over the television. “A star is born.” Jarvis and the bartender laughed out loud.

  Hewlett drained the glass, then plunked it down on the bar. “Have your fun, boys, have your fun.”

  “We’re just messing with you, Joe,” Jarvis said good-naturedly. “Hey barkeep! A beer on me for Mr. Hollywood!”

  “Now, that’s more like it,” Hewlett said.

  The months that followed the disappearance of Collins and the remaining Centurions produced a rash of unexplained sightings in the northern Adirondack region of New York state. Each new Bigfoot, Sasquatch, and Adirondack Wraith sighting fanned the flames of speculation, drawing countless hunters and amateur researchers to the rapidly crowding area. Unfortunately for Sheriff Al Jarvis, along with the increase in sightings, there came an increase in accidental shootings from overzealous trackers. Luckily, there were no deaths or serious injuries, so far.

  Even the government jumped into the fray with its own explanation for the increase in sightings. A short article in the local newspaper mentioned the U.S. Army had been working with BoDex Research & Development in testing new styles of ghillie suits and that was most likely what the locals had seen. As usual, the governmental take on events was viewed with skepticism.

  “This is Katie Lynn, reporting for—”

  Tom Stanick pressed the pause button. “Well, that was interesting.” He walked across his office in the Agency for Military Technology & Scientific Initiatives building and ejected the DVD.

  “Told you it was a beaut, right?” said Frank Curtiss.

  “That you did, Frank.” Stanick slipped the DVD back into its case. “And you say this was the botched result of the Army resurrecting that World War II Nazi project?”

  Curtiss sat on a couch, his hands folded across his stomach. “No doubt about it. All the details are in the report.” Curtiss tapped on a thick red folder. “The bottom fell out months ago. It just took a while for the parties to throw in the towel and admit failure.”

  “They hate to go down without a fight,” Stanick mused. “I still remember that recovery operation. Colorado, maybe seven or eight years ago, right?”

  “That’s the one,” Curtiss answered. “I’m just letting you know this little gem is coming back to MTSI for safekeeping. Since it was one of your recoveries to begin with, I’d like you to receive and secure it.”

  “What’s the ETA?”

  Curtiss looked at his watch. “The C-130 is expected today at 4:00 PM. I wanted you to see the newscast so you’d have some idea how far out this thing has rippled.”

  “It’s amazing they were able to keep this under wraps at all.”

  Curtiss handed the folder to Stanick. “Keep me posted, Tom. We want to bury this thing good and deep.”

  “Sure thing,” Stanick replied. When Curtiss left, Stanick loosened his tie and sat at his desk. He opened the folder and paged through the documents and photographs, reading every detail of General Calhoun Attwood’s takeover, development, and destruction of the project.

  One hour later, Tom Stanick completed his review. He closed the folder and wondered if it had all been worth it.

  Early the next morning, there was a knock on the door of Frank Curtiss’s office. Tom Stanick stood in the doorway. “Morning, Tom,” Curtiss said. “C’mon in, grab a seat.” Curtiss removed his glasses. “Everything go okay with the return of our wayward child?”

  Stanick knew he was referring to The Devil’s Claw project. “Yep. The C-130 arrived on schedule. I verified that everything related to the project had been delivered, then had it all moved to the Black Hole.” Stanick was referring to the ultra-secure, secret storage vault below the basement of the Agency for Military Technology & Scientific Initiatives building.

  “Excellent work, as always, Tom.”

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  Curtiss studied Stanick. “Something bothering you?”

  “I was just thinking about something.”

  “And that would be?”

  Stanick took a deep breath. “We got back the o
riginal documents from our initial recovery operation, along with the research notes and documents from General Attwood’s team. He even signed the affidavit verifying that all related material, including laboratory specimens, etc., had been destroyed.”

  “So?”

  “So, the missing prototypes, for lack of a better term, of these creatures could still be loose and running around the Adirondacks. Listening to that newscast, it sure sounds like it.”

  “Yeah, well, there could be a problem there,” Curtiss admitted. “You examined everything in the file?” Stanick nodded. “Then you know those guys did pretty much everything they could to locate their missing Centurions.”

  “And the missing special agent,” Stanick interjected.

  “Yes,” Curtiss agreed. “Nothing else they could have done—other than come clean and warn the public. Then you’d be talking pure pandemonium, and we could be dragged into it. Do we want to explain everything we’re sitting on here?”

  “Guess you’re right.”

  “I have to agree with the decision to let the public think they were chasing Bigfoot,” Curtiss said. “And honestly, I don’t think those things or the special agent are even in the area any longer. The Bigfoot sightings have been monitored closely from the time the Centurions went missing. The Adirondack sightings have dropped way off, and interestingly, the pattern indicates they might be moving in a northwesterly direction. So, the problem may have taken care of itself.”

  “This time, maybe,” Stanick replied, “but what about the next time?”

  “We’ll just have to be more careful in the future with what we agree to let out of the Black Hole.”

  “A lot of people died on this one,” Stanick persisted. “We don’t normally get that.”

  “Sometimes things don’t go according to plan,” Curtiss countered.

  “Especially when idiots insist on opening Pandora’s Box for their own gain,” Stanick said. “This one should never have been released. It was too dangerous.”

  “Tom, you’re right, but it’s not always up to us. Anyway, it’s done, over. All I can say is, next time we’ll think long and hard before releasing something like this. I give you my word. Fair enough?”