"Good night, Doc. Don't forget to take off your glasses before you go to sleep."
As Charlie lay down once more he stared at the mass of stars in the sky above. He knew that the others in the Group considered him a nerd, a man more prone to wet himself in a bad situation than to assist, but he knew things to be different for himself. He was far more excited about being back than men like Will Mendenhall would ever believe. He talked through his excitement just to calm the feelings he had about the Stikine and its wildlife.
As he lay on his sleeping bag, he looked over at the now still Mendenhall. He really liked Will, but he knew the lieutenant saw him as an old fool who filled his days with dreams of long-dead monsters and crazy ideas, but Charlie knew himself to be quite sufficient in the field, even though everyone thought him a lab rat. As he thought these things he slowly reached under his sleeping bag and made sure the safety was on the old-fashioned Smith & Wesson .38. Then he felt for the six-inch switchblade knife he always carried for luck. As he felt the two weapons he smiled; no, the old lab rat knew he could take care of himself when called upon — after all, he had been north of the Stikine before, and he knew it may take nerves of steel to face what's waiting for them across the river.
RUSSIAN BASE CAMP
As the rest of the force lay down in their tents, the few technicians still working had set up a powerful metal detector just a few feet from the water's edge. They made sure the connections were made and then they sighted the conical-shaped stand at a spot they had determined would show the best results. Two of the first shift guards watched them from a distance. There were at least fifteen men on watch around the camp.
"Do you think they have an idea where the gold is already?" one of them asked his shift partner.
The larger of the two Spetsnaz watched the technicians return to the largest of all the tents. "It's not the gold I would like to get my hands on, but the sister to that diamond the bosses have, that's what I would like to see."
The smaller guard was a late addition to the team, a man who had just received his discharge from the red army and one of the only men there that wasn't a true old-camp Spetsnaz. He looked at the tall man beside him, as if he were sizing him up. Then he looked around the camp and picked out six other teams of guards as they walked a perimeter. They were far enough away from their river position not to hear their voices.
"How deep do you think the river is at the point right across from us?" the man asked, watching the Spetsnaz for a reaction.
"Too deep to cross you fool, and don't think I don't know what it is you are thinking." He looked down at the man with steely blue eyes. "Even if you made it across, the boss would gut you and leave you for the wolves when you returned."
The small man turned away and saw the American woman who had chosen to sleep outside of her tent. She lay by the dwindling fire and he couldn't tell if she was awake or asleep. Then he turned back to look at the taller man.
"The boss wouldn't know if one of us stayed behind while the other had a look-see. I could be across and back in half an hour, with nobody suspecting I had even crossed."
"You fool, you don't even know what it is you're looking for. You could step right on something over there and not know it. Besides," the man looked across the river, "don't you feel it?"
"Feel what?" the small weasel of a man asked.
"I don't know. It's like when I was stationed in Afghanistan the last months of the war. I was a kid back then, but I remember I used to gaze into the mountains and know my killers were there." He looked back at the small man. "I get that same feeling looking out there, across the river. And I'll ask you this, we are being led by men who have taken on the new Russian government and beat them at every turn, so why are these very same men who are not afraid of anything, keeping south of the river. If what we seek is on the other side, why not camp there?"
The man didn't say anything. He just glanced over at the tent that held Sagli and Deonovich, and watched the line guard stationed at the front of their large enclosure.
"Because they know something we don't, my friend — they sense danger just as I do and they would prefer not to face whatever it is in the darkness. They are old-guard KGB and they know danger when they smell it."
The small man made a grunting sound and then shrugged his shoulders as if the explanation hadn't fazed him one bit.
"I think you Spetsnaz have been brainwashed to the point of paranoia. That story is proof that they just want to keep you in the dark about how much gold is really over there."
The tall commando just shook his head, and then turned and continued walking his post along the river.
The small man was regular army, one of only six others the team had been forced to take when others had been stopped and questioned coming into Canada. The Spetsnaz liked to joke about the regular army, saying "they didn't have the sense God gave to geese."
As the guard watched the far shore past the luminous passing of the river in the moonlight, he saw something that made him lean down and try to focus upon. It looked as if one of the trees had moved. He caught shadow moving against shadow, and that movement was betrayed by the bright moon as it shone down upon the far northern bank of the Stikine.
The man thought about calling his guard partner back over to inform him that someone had braved the river and crossed, and were now more than likely searching for the gold, just as they should be. However, something held him back as he glared into the night. He quickly unsnapped the small pouch on his belt and removed the night-vision goggles and placed them over his eyes. The movement on the far shore had ceased. The darkness was still there beside one of the larger trees in the distant tree line and it hadn't moved since he froze and watched it. In the green filtered ambient light of the goggles, he could tell whatever it was it was huge, standing at least nine feet beside the tree. The guard raised the goggles and then shook his head and rubbed his eyes. When he focused the ambient light goggles again on the same spot on the far bank, the shadow he had been watching seemed to have blended in with the tree — or trees, as now he didn't see any discernable difference in any of the shadows as one bled into the other.
The guard knew that the Spetsnaz had tried to fool him with a spook story on how their bosses were frightened of the dark across the river, but he knew better. There was something over there all right, but it had nothing to do with spooks and goblins. There was gold, and what was the harm in finding out, especially if no one knew?
The guard smiled as he looked around and then caught up with his partner. After their shift was over, he would make his excuse to wander away to do his private latrine business, and then investigate on his own the far shore — danger be damned.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the guard had waded across the same exact spot in the river that Professor Ellenshaw had crossed in 1968. The man turned just before exiting the water and watched the camp across the river. No alarm had been sounded as the change of watch was going about its business. The man smirked at the expertise of the old-guard Spetsnaz. They may have been good once, but those days were long past.
The man made his way out of the river and watched the woods. They were silent and unmoving. With the moon almost down, the ominous shadows had vanished and with it, the nervousness he had felt before crossing the Stikine.
As he made his way up the rocky slope, his foot struck something that sounded like metal. He stopped and reached for the object. He stayed on one knee and rolled the piece of black aluminum around in his hand. He was curious as to its misshapen state as he rose. At that split second of realization that he was no longer alone on the shore of the river, the guard slowly looked up. Instead of seeing the faint outline of the forest ahead, he saw nothing but blackness blocking his view. As his head continued to move upward, he dropped the aluminum he had been looking at and it tumbled to the rocks. As his eyes rose to the sky, he whimpered in his throat when he saw the eyes looking down at him.
The giant beast tilted
its enormous head as it studied the small man before it. The eyes were a dull green and seemed to be illuminated from the inside. The man tried to take a step back and the beast grunted its displeasure at the movement. Then the guard made a move to unholster his weapon from his side. The great beast saw the movement and in a split second had reached out and grabbed the man's wrist, snapping the thick bone in two. The man was shocked at the speed of movement and really didn't realize his wrist had been snapped like a dry twig.
The animal grunted again and then its luminous eyes came up and it studied the camp across the river. When he felt the man start to pull away, the animal returned all of its attention to him. As the beast moved its head, the man was amazed to see that some of the thick, foul-smelling hair of its head had been braided. It was sloppily done, but braided nonetheless. The guard pulled harder at the restraining hand of the animal and that was when the great beast took the man into the air by grabbing his neck. It shook him like a rag doll, snapping not only his neck, but three places in his spine as well.
The animal held the man closer to its face and sniffed the body. It growled deep in its throat and shook the guard one last time, and when it stopped it glanced across the river once more toward the Russian encampment. It growled again, this time deeper in its chest until it finally escaped its apelike mouth.
The beast sniffed the air and then lowered the man in its grasp. Then it raised the body by its neck and tossed it into the Stikine as if it were nothing more than a stone. With one last look at the men across the river, the beast turned and walked into the dark woods.
* * *
Fifty-six miles downriver, Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III awoke so suddenly from dreaming of that long-ago summer of 1968 that he at first failed to realize where he was. He grimaced and then rolled over on the sleeping bag after tossing the top half off of his body, knowing that Mendenhall must have covered him after he had fallen asleep. He felt around and then raised the bottom half of the bag and pulled out a large rock that was jabbing painfully into his backside. He hefted the large stone and was just drawing back to toss it into the river, when a hand reached out and took his wrist. Charlie almost let out a wail of fright until he looked up and even without his glasses he realized it was the Frenchman, Farbeaux, who had stopped his rock toss. Standing beside him was Colonel Collins, who held his right index finger up to his lips. The stone fell from Charlie's grasp and it clinked onto the ground.
"What is it?" Charlie whispered when he saw their worried faces.
Instead of answering, Jack used hand signals to someone in the rear of their cold camp; Charlie then watched Carl Everett and Punchy Alexander emerge from the tree line. Then he placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder.
"Something came across the river about five minutes ago," Collins said, looking from a scared Ellenshaw to Will Mendenhall, who came in from the forest side of the camp. He stopped and shook his head in the negative at Collins. "Take a whiff with your nose, Doc. Have you ever smelled anything like that before?"
Ellenshaw turned his nose to the slight wind coming from the north. He did smell something on the air — it was an even deeper forest smell than what was naturally given on a regular wind. Earthy, most people would call it. Wetness, much like a waterlogged dog or other animal, mixed with the rich earth of the woods. He indeed had smelled that odor before.
"I have, once, many years ago." Charlie slowly stood and looked around. The moon was setting and he felt the small amount of wind that had been present a moment before, slowly subside. "They are close by."
Collins and Farbeaux were feeling something that the others besides Everett had yet to catch onto. They took a step toward the river, watching as they went. Then they stopped and one head turned the opposite of the other, slowly circling the area around them, finally settling on the trees behind their camp where Everett and Mendenhall had searched a moment before.
"Not even the Russians can be that brazen, or that stealthy," Will said as he looked around in the direction he had just come from with the old-fashioned Colt .45 Peacemaker six-shot revolver he had removed from his pack. The old woman had passed it to him back at the fishing camp saying, he looked more the fast-draw type than the others.
"I think the Russians are fast asleep many miles upriver, young Lieutenant; this is something else," Farbeaux said as he shook his head. "Whatever it was is gone now, Colonel."
"I told you, it's them," Charlie said, acting excited. "They are close."
Jack nodded his head, knowing Henri was right — whatever had come across the river was now gone. He was also taking Charlie a little more seriously than he had before. Their stealthy visitors were either gone, or went to ground. He looked at his watch and sighed. "Well, it's 0440, let's break out the Sterno and get some coffee going."
"Is that wise? The smell of coffee travels a long way," Charlie asked as he started rolling up his sleeping bag and then he looked up at Mendenhall. "And that I did see in a western."
Jack continued to look around the camp. "Wind is picking up again and coming from the north, Doc, the Russians are in the opposite direction," he said as if speaking to himself.
As the others watched the colonel slowly walk away, it was Henri who caught up with Jack at the river's edge. Collins turned and saw the Frenchman looking at a spot directly across from them on the northern riverbank.
"I'm glad you were alert during your watch, Colonel," Jack said turning back to face the river.
"Let's be honest here, you were as awake as I. No sleeping man has those kinds of reactions."
Collins gave a false smile, but didn't turn to face Farbeaux. "Whatever came across that river was fast and large as hell, it would have awoken a dead man."
"If you say so," Henri replied. "Now, what do we do about whatever it was, now that it is obviously over on this side of the river?"
"Nothing."
"That doesn't sound like you, Colonel."
"Whatever it was, all it did was join the others of its kind that were already following us, Henri." Jack finally faced Farbeaux. "In case you haven't noticed, we've been surrounded by whatever is out there every foot upriver we've traveled."
The Frenchman watched Jack turn and walk away. "Are you always so cheerful in the mornings, Colonel?"
WAHACHAPEE FISHING CAMP
THE STIKINE RIVER
Sarah McIntire and Jason Ryan had been so exhausted that they just rolled two sleeping bags out by the Bell Ranger where they had worked at tearing into the battered engine compartment most of the day and into the night. They had discovered that the only part that needed attention outside of a few rubber hoses was the fuel injector. It lay in several pieces on a blanket next to the skid of the Ranger. Jason said that he would be able to repair the minute holes in the complicated fuel delivery system with some melted lead or solder.
Finally, Sarah and Jason had called it quits and lowered the gas flow on the lanterns and went right to sleep without claiming the offer made by Marla and her grandmother of a hot meal. At 4:50 A.M., it was Marla who shook them awake.
"You have to come up to the porch — now," the girl said as she pulled a shawl tightly around her shoulders. Sarah saw that when the words came, the girl's eyes were not watching them but were on the woods to her right.
"What is it?" Sarah asked as her and Ryan sat up.
The girl didn't explain; she stood and started walking back to the general store. Sarah watched her go and then her eyes traveled to the porch. There she saw in the darkness the girl's grandmother standing with arms crossed, watching them.
"I think we better do what she says," Sarah said as she started shaking out of the sleeping bag.
"What? Is there a deer stampede headed our way or something?" Ryan asked, shaking his head and trying desperately to get the kinks in his muscles stretched out.
Suddenly, they both sensed the change that came over the fishing camp. The utter silence told them something was happening that they couldn't see, but could sense.
Sarah looked at Ryan, and without hesitation stood and started for the grocery store and didn't look back until they had joined the old woman and Marla on the steps of the porch. When they turned, Sarah watched the woods, her eyes eventually moving to the river, which was now in total darkness since the setting of the moon. She could barely make out the helicopter as it sat before them only fifty yards away.
"What is it?" Ryan asked the old woman, who was watching the same area as Sarah.
"We've had visitors in the night," Helena Petrovich said as her eyes moved from the trees to the open area before the store. "I'm surprised you didn't wake up when they were rummagin' around that whirly chopper you were working on."
"When who was rummaging around?" Ryan asked, not liking the fact that something was so close to them and they never knew it.
The old woman didn't answer. She pulled her granddaughter closer to her and placed a protective arm around her.
"Are you saying that the local Indians steal things during the night?" Jason persisted.
Helena finally spared Ryan a look. "The Indians here 'bouts don't steal, navy man. And before you ask, we don't, either."
"He wasn't inferring—"
"Let's just say it would be better if you stretch out on the porch till the sun comes up."
In the distance, two gunshots rang out. They waited, but there was only one other that followed. Then silence once more took hold.
"Who in the hell's out there?" Sarah asked when the echoes stopped.
"Don't know," the old woman said looking toward the sound of the gunfire. "Maybe we should try for some sleep; Marla and I have a workday tomorrow."
"I think I can safely say, I'm done sleeping for the night," Ryan said, taking a step off the porch and walking toward the helicopter.
"Well, why don't we eat some breakfast then," Marla said hurriedly as she took three quick steps down the wooden stairs and quickly took Jason by the arm. "By that time, the sun'll be up."
Sarah could see that the girl was frightened and didn't want Ryan to return to the chopper.
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