THIRTY-SEVEN
Bantz Montgomery entered Greta McFarland’s office, accompanied by Dr. Matthew Wallace from the forensics lab in Oregon.
“Come on in,” McFarland ordered.
She’d never looked so bedraggled, Montgomery thought, and he knew why. Word had come in that afternoon about the death of a hiker on the Fawn Pass trail. On the day before, the office received the call from Oregon that Dr. Wallace would be flying in on a government charter with the lab results that McFarland had demanded.
Jack Corey stood in the office by a Yellowstone map on the wall while apparently briefing McFarland. The greetings with Dr. Wallace were quick, then coffee was offered to the special guest but politely refused. The office air hung thick with solemn business as Wallace and Montgomery took their seats and McFarland asked Corey to carry on.
“It was a Grizzly attack,” Corey said confidently, pointing to the map. “The hiker’s body was located here, not far off the Fawn Pass trail.”
“What makes you think a bear did it?” McFarland asked.
“I sent out a team.” He nodded toward Montgomery. “Bantz led it.”
McFarland squeezed her forehead as Corey spoke. The park superintendent always depended on her to be the go-to person for the media. She’d be the one to take care of the report of a death on a backcountry trail and she needed to do it that weekend. An exhausting turn of events for everyone, but especially for anyone in her position.
“They found fresh scat and tracks where the attack occurred,” Corey continued. “Unmistakable Grizzly signs. The body was dragged away and covered with dirt and branches. Typical.”
McFarland folded her arms across her chest and gripped her chin with one hand. “Why is that typical?”
“Temporary storage. The bear planned to return to finish off the carcass. Had to hide it from scavengers in the meantime.”
Montgomery started to speak, but Corey used his eyes to shut him up.
McFarland asked, “So you would say that this attack had an entirely different signature from the one of the photographer?”
“Precisely.”
She turned to face Montgomery directly. “Bantz, what about the other hiker, a Miss Loudermilk, I believe. What did she say happened?”
Montgomery kept his side vision trained on Corey as he spoke. “I wasn’t able to get much out of her. She was still sedated and just muttered, really.”
“Did she say anything about a wolf?”
“I . . . believe so.”
“Who knows what she meant,” Corey spoke up. “We had a bear attack on a hiker, Greta. That’s always the danger in backcountry.”
McFarland lowered her head and massaged her temples. “Good God Almighty, Jack,” she said under her breath.
“Sorry?” Corey asked.
Without answering, McFarland turned to the director of the Oregon forensics lab. “Well, Dr. Wallace, I hope you’ve brought us some data that can help us out here.”
“As a matter of fact, we have more than we expected to have by now.” He quickly summarized what he and his team had accomplished during the week. They had the attacking animal’s saliva from the wounds inflicted on the victims. They had also recovered strands of hair from the fatal neck wound of the photographer and in many cases from the livestock deaths. The lab isolated the DNA from the samples to pin down a single hybrid as the culprit, a cross between the Tosa Inu breed and a North American gray wolf. To complete the investigation, in the previous two days his team analyzed DNA in the stored blood samples from all of the original wolves transported into Yellowstone from Alberta.
“So for us, it was just a matter of matching the foreign trace DNA found in the wounds of the victims,” Dr. Wallace said, “with DNA from the stored blood from all of the wolves.” Wallace clearly fancied himself as the detective meeting with everyone in the parlor after solving the crime. “And I’m pleased to tell you that we succeeded in getting a perfect match with one of the wolves.”
He grabbed a thick folder from his attaché and pulled out of it an eight by ten photo that he passed around the table. It showed a wire cage resting on snow and inside it, an ebony black wolf. Nothing notable about the animal, except for a silver stripe along its chest.
“That’s the killer,” Dr. Wallace said. “The picture was taken just after capture in Alberta. Wolf number 25M. The male belonged to the Soda Butte pack, the first pack released into the Park.”
“It looks like a normal wolf to me,” McFarland said.
“According to his records,” Wallace replied, “mainly those from the teeth, it was eleven months old when captured. Only a pre-teen in dog age. Yet at one hundred twenty-eight pounds, it was the largest wolf in the pack.”
“Why didn’t the biologists see a red flag at the time?” McFarland continued.
Dr. Wallace held his open palms out and shrugged. “Other than observing that it was big for its age, there was absolutely nothing unusual. You can see from the picture that its dominant characteristics are those of a wolf. But its genetic makeup leaves no doubt—absolutely none—that 25M is a hybrid.”
McFarland peered at Corey. “I take it that you can locate the whereabouts of 25M from the radio transmissions on his collar?”
Corey quickly rifled through the stack of papers he’d brought to the meeting while McFarland tapped an index finger on the table. It took only a minute for Corey to hold up a double-sided sheet of paper that listed every wolf radio-collared and the frequency of its transmitter. “It’s right here on the chart.” He slid his finger across the paper. “That wolf—25M—transmits at 152.38 megahertz.”
“The superintendent wants this taken care of,” McFarland quickly responded. “You need to get search and capture underway.”
“With all the visitors coming in over a holiday weekend,” Corey said, “I’ve had to pull in a dozen extra rangers. And that’s just to direct traffic. We don’t have the manpower to—”
“Listen to me carefully, Jack. I am ordering you to track down the wolf this weekend. Even if you and Montgomery have to go it alone.”
Looking embarrassed for a colleague, Dr. Wallace averted his eyes.
Take a deep breath, Jack.
Corey sat up straight. “Okay . . . and when we locate this creature, we’ll bring in a chopper and get rangers on the ground. I’ll page you.”
“You can call me directly,” McFarland said. “I’ll be right here. And remember the regional Boy Scout outing at Indian Creek. I’m told a hundred Scouts or more will be there. What are your plans for that?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Corey replied. “The incident happened on the far side of the Big Horn Pass. That’s a good fifteen miles or more from their campground. There’s no reason to get the Scouts all worked up.”
“Is that your only recommendation to the superintendent?”
“We could take other precautions.”
“Like?”
“Like closing the Fawn Pass trail.”
McFarland leaned back in her chair to think it over before replying. “I’ll give the superintendent your advice. It’s his decision, but he’s out of town. I’ll try to reach him.”
Montgomery watched amused as it all played out. He’d seen it all in action before. McFarland got what she wanted out of Corey and if anything goes wrong—no matter the size of the problem—she could point the finger at him. And where the hell was the superintendent when it all hit the fan? He’d already gotten out of Dodge for the long weekend.
After the meeting, Montgomery followed Corey into his office.
Corey slammed shut the door and immediately turned and shoved Montgomery against the wall. He pinned back his shoulders and mashed his face into Montgomery’s. “For the last time, Bantz, when we’re in front of her, let me do the goddamn talking. The next time you pipe up—”
“She asked me a question, Jack.”
Corey released his grip and twisted away. “I don’t give a shit what she asks you.”
&nbs
p; “I kept telling you about the wolf tracks—”
“It was a Grizzly kill. Plain and simple.”
“But the bear could’ve smelled the blood and come in after the wolf attacked.”
“Why the hell are you making such a big deal out of this, Bantz?”
Montgomery waved at the Park map on the wall. “If we don’t close off the entire northwest quadrant, I think we should at least give the Scouts a warning.”
“You trying to be some kind of hero? Still after my job, you little prick?”
No, he didn’t want Corey’s job or anything more to do with Yellowstone after the weekend. He wasn’t trying to act like a savior for the Scouts, the Park visitors, or for Greta McFarland. He was doing what he was hired to do eight years before. No longer any need to waste his breath. All he had to do was make it through the weekend. He’d had enough. The wild card was Corey.
THIRTY-EIGHT
“Where do you plan to take your overnighter, Mr. Farmington?” Jack Corey asked. He’d agreed to meet up with Leonard Farmington in the afternoon at Yellowstone’s Indian Creek campground.
The two men sat on benches at opposite sides of a picnic table. Wearing his tan outfit full of regalia, Farmington had introduced himself as the scoutmaster for the Gallatin District. He’d added that he was also the leader for a Boy Scout troop in Colter. The way he spoke, along with his hand-waving mannerisms, suggested a long history of organizing Scout activities. A trail map lay spread out on the picnic table.
Farmington pointed at the map with a pen engraved with the Boy Scouts of America insignia. “We had our council jamboree here four years ago. Back then, we hiked the Howard Eaton. But this time we plan our overnight hike on the Bighorn Pass. That’s our best option, of course, since we’re camped so near the trailhead.”
“The Bighorn’s a popular trail,” Corey said. He pointed to the map. “It goes from here all the way over to the western edge at Highway 191. But you should be aware that we did have an unfortunate accident yesterday. Here on the Fawn Pass trail. It runs across the Park north of the Bighorn.”
“What kind of accident?”
“A Grizzly mauling. The hiker was killed.”
Farmington dropped his jaw and jerked back his head. “Good golly!”
“Now it’s nothing really to worry about.”
“But we haven’t heard or read anything about it.”
“It’s one reason I wanted to meet with you,” Corey said, “and go over the—”
“An actual Grizzly mauling?”
“That’s why I wanted to review your plans. It was quite sad. A college student hiking with a local girl. She got away unhurt, for the most part.”
Farmington couldn’t stop shaking his head. He examined the map one more time. “The Fawn Pass trail doesn’t look that far away.”
“It’s pretty far north and west of the campground.”
“Do you consider it a safe distance?”
“I don’t see it as a threat at all,” Corey said. “But keep in mind, we’re in a national park. Animals take priority over people here. You do have all the info we provided on campground safety?”
“We know there’s always a threat of bears. We’ll follow park guidelines, of course. Hang our stored food in the trees and all that.”
Corey rose from the table. “By the way, wolves have been spotted in the area.”
“We’d love to see a wolf pack! Can you give me any tips?”
“There’re no packs where you’ll be hiking. But there may be a lone wolf here or there. We’ve had reports of one on the prowl.”
“A wolf on the prowl? Is that something we should be watching out for?”
“Standard precautions, Mr. Farmington. Give any wolves you spot a wide berth. Think of them in the same way you might a Grizzly.”
The scoutmaster looked puzzled. “But I’ve always heard that wolves stay far away from people.”
“I don’t want to frighten any of the Scouts. Use common sense. Anyway, I’m only talking here about a slim chance of encountering a wolf or a bear. But just to be extra cautious, we’re making flyovers in your area this weekend.”
Farmington smiled. “That’s terrific, Mr. Corey. It’s good to know the Park Service is keeping a watch out for us.”
“Just doing my job, Mr. Farmington. Just doing my job.”
***
While Montgomery drove toward headquarters, heavy traffic was already building: half of it pickup trucks with camper shells and RVs lashed with bicycles and folding chairs on the rear. They weaved from the middle of the road to the shoulder, hustling along at a top speed of maybe twenty-five. On their bumpers were license plates with pictures of bronco-riding cowboys or skiers and some with mottos proclaiming Greatest Snow on Earth.
After he arrived at headquarters there was a note on his desk from “G.M.” McFarland wanted to see him as soon as possible. Strange. He’d never been called into her office alone before. But everyone was walking around on eggshells. He had a gut feeling that he knew what it was all about.
When he tapped on her open door she invited him to sit.
“First let me say, Bantz, that Superintendent Gilmer and I are most appreciative of your hard work on the wolf problem.”
That’s a first. He’d never been thanked by anyone at her level or above for anything he’d ever done. He knew what was coming. It was obvious from her body language at the earlier meeting in her office that she was preparing a change in field strategy.
McFarland hesitated, as if trying to gather the right words. “I’m aware our meeting like this is a bit unusual, but I had a long discussion with the superintendent before leaving you the note.”
So this is how they tell you that you’ve been transferred to another assignment? Or to another national park? Little did she know that she was playing his song.
“I’ll confess that I was surprised by your note,” he said. “You know, I’ve put in a good eight years.”
Best to play dumb . . . play along with the script.
“Let me stop you right there, Bantz. As you’re well aware, we’re facing the biggest problem since the fires of ‘88. The fact that Operation Wolfstock has been corrupted by a killer hybrid wolf is nothing short of a disaster. All of this means those who fought bringing wolves back to Yellowstone were right, Bantz. That includes most of the US Congressmen in the tri-state area, not to mention the powerful lobbies from the cattle industry. In my opinion the Park Service didn’t have any idea what it was doing at the time. They were like infants wrestling with a tiger.”
She was talking too fast. Her words had the odor of bull crap. “To be honest with you, Miss McFarland, I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
“I need your help.”
Say what? A red flag flashed in his head. Here she was coming late onto the Yellowstone scene, second-guessing everything that had been done and everyone responsible for it as if she was some kind of expert who would have made everything perfect if only the Park Service had had the wisdom at the time to bring her on board.
“Let me assure you of one thing, Miss McFarland, you can count on Jack Corey to take care of this.” He never thought those words would come out of his mouth, but her self-righteousness wrenched it out of him. But why was he defending Jack Corey of all people? Because in the heat of anger he wasn’t going to allow a damn bureaucrat who had never stepped foot in the field to get in the last word.
“You sound so certain about Jack.” She acted surprised.
“I’ve known him longer than anyone around. He has a track record of taking on assignments that no one else in the Park Service wanted to touch with a logger’s pike.”
She pushed her chair away from the desk and crossed her legs, as if to actually begin listening. “Do you mean assignments like the poacher the two of you found last week?”
“Well . . . that’s the most recent example.”
“Did you know the guy retained a lawyer? He’s filing charges. Corey’s ac
tion was totally out of line, Bantz.”
No shock that Corey had failed to let him know about that one. “The point is that Jack can get things done when he puts his mind to it. But maybe that’s another story. May I ask what you have planned for me?”
“I’ll be straight with you,” she answered. “I’ve been having doubts about Jack taking charge of this search from the beginning.”
“If you’re thinking I might take over for him, don’t count on it. I won’t work behind his back.”
“I’m not asking that. Jack’s had a lot of pressure on him lately. You’re aware of that?”
“Are you talking about his family situation?” he asked.
“Well, yes, among other things.”
“I think we’re getting into territory we should stay out of.”
“You’re absolutely right, Bantz.” She quickly stood and extended her hand. “Thanks for coming in. You have a lot of work ahead of you and I’m keeping you away from it.”
He reached for her hand, the first time he’d ever shook it. Her grip was firmer than that of most men.
“I trust,” she said, “that you’ll keep our little talk confidential?”
“Of course. But one thing you should know. Jack and I will handle it. You can count on it.”
THIRTY-NINE
Dieter sat in the living room after the kids had gone to bed. He’d heard the news about the death of a hiker in the Park, but the coverage was confusing. It appeared to have been a Grizzly attack and was under investigation. He’d told the kids nothing about the plane incident, hoping that Michael would not connect with it at school either. The mishap had been a close call. If Amy had flown a few feet lower, it could’ve been all over for both of them. That thought made him aware once again: there were no godparents for his kids.
Molly and the Judge came to mind, but so did their age. He had a good friend back in Bucks County, Dale McGregor. He’d graduated from high school with Dale, even roomed with him at Penn State when they were freshmen. They’d remained friends over the years. He was an investment banker, but the last time they’d talked he was on his second marriage and gave the impression that one wasn’t a thrill ride either. He’d put off thinking about the kids for too long. Tomorrow he needed to talk with Molly. See where she stood on the matter.
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