by Andrew Lane
‘Sorry,’ he said to the second woman as he snatched her dog. ‘I really do need a matched pair.’
This one he just pushed at Orange as the man gaped in amazement at what was going on.
Panicking, the dog fastened its teeth on Orange’s nose.
Orange screamed: a high-pitched whistle of pure shock.
Rhino reached out and pushed Blue and Orange in opposite directions. The men stumbled and fell, each one still with a dog latched on to some vital part of his anatomy. Smiling at the two shocked dog owners, who were staring in disbelief at what was going on, Rhino sprinted away.
Behind him he could hear snarling, shouting and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the sound of the two women hitting Blue and Orange with their handbags. He didn’t look back. He kept running, then dodged down a side street.
He diverted down an alleyway that separated two warehouse-like buildings. There were some plastic bins a few metres down, and he ducked between them. He could feel his breath rasping in his chest, and his pulse hammering in the arteries of his neck and in his temples. Despite all his training, despite all the exercise he did on a regular basis, sudden exertions like this would always drain his energy.
He listened above the sound of his own ragged breathing for the noise of footsteps running after him. There was nothing. Somewhere in the distance he thought he could hear voices raised in anger, but nobody appeared to be chasing him. Hopefully the two dog-owning women were so busy with Blue and Orange that the two thugs hadn’t had an opportunity to get away. They wouldn’t dare use weapons. Not on members of the public. That would immediately involve the police.
He cursed under his breath. His cover was comprehensively blown. He needed to get out of Washington in a hurry.
The best thing he could do was go somewhere remote – back in England, if he could get to the airport and on to a flight without getting intercepted – and go to ground for a while. Get out of circulation until the fuss had died down. The way criminal gangs worked, something else would come along to distract their attention. Pretty soon he would be yesterday’s news, and nobody would waste time or money looking for him.
Time or money. That was the problem. Rhino had time, but he didn’t have money. Financing these kidnap-rescue operations took a lot of cash, and the profit margin wasn’t that big. If he wanted to keep going, then he had to take any job that came his way. He couldn’t afford to take a break for too long. And, of course, there were other ex-Special Forces soldiers wandering around trying to get into the same business. Work came through personal recommendations, and it was time-sensitive. If he was out of the game for a few months, lying low to avoid getting tracked and caught, then someone else would come along and take the jobs that would have been his. And then, when he got back into the game, it wasn’t just the criminals who would have forgotten about him. His prospective customers would have done so as well.
The bottom line was he needed a job that would take him out of circulation for a while, and he needed it fast. But where was that job going to come from?
‘Don’t worry,’ Calum said to Tara. ‘They’re playing games with your mind.’ Gecko watched as he typed furiously into his wireless keyboard, then let out a frustrated breath. ‘Blast it, they’re using an anonymizer. Obvious, I suppose, but I can’t trace the email back to a location.’
‘First thing I thought of.’ Tara shrugged. She was trying to look casual, but her face was shadowed with worry. ‘They’re not technological muppets – that much is certain.’ She glanced from Calum to Gecko and back again. ‘So what exactly is it that I’ve got myself into here? What is it you do that’s attracted the interest of these Nemor people?’
Calum opened his mouth to explain, but Gecko stopped him with an upheld hand. ‘Hey, can I do this one? Just to see if I understand it properly?’
Calum shrugged. ‘Knock yourself out.’
‘Right.’ Gecko turned back to Tara. ‘Your man here is a one-person ecology project, but he is not interested in cuddly pandas or the like. He is trying to locate and protect species that either science doesn’t know about, or that science thinks are already extinct.’
‘That much I got from a quick scan of his website.’ Tara raised an eyebrow. ‘I guess the question is: why?’
Gecko glanced at Calum, who nodded. ‘Because there might be stuff in their DNA that could cure diseases, or help us in other ways.’
‘And,’ Calum added, ‘because it would be a tragedy if a species died out due to global warming or endemic pollution without us even knowing that it was there.’
‘Even though it might be a really small beetle, or some kind of ugly, spiky fish or something,’ Gecko continued. At Calum’s frown he went on: ‘Hey, be honest – not all creatures are as cute as pandas.’
‘And that’s half the problem.’ Calum shrugged. ‘There’s definitely a pecking order in cryptids.’
‘Cryptids?’ Tara asked.
‘Animals that are just rumours, or just legends. Everyone wants there to be a plesiosaur in Loch Ness, or pumas living wild in Hampshire, but it’s the unknown stick insect in Bolivia that’s more likely to have genetic material that can be used for the benefit of mankind.’
‘That’s exploitation,’ Tara said firmly. She seemed to sit straighter on the sofa, and her face took on an aggrieved expression. ‘Nobody owns the DNA of another creature. We all own the rights to our own genetic material.’
‘Even ugly, spiky fish?’ Gecko asked.
‘Especially ugly, spiky fish,’ she responded angrily.
Whoops, Gecko thought, that obviously hit a nerve. Maybe she thinks of herself as a spiky fish. Best leave that analogy well alone in future.
Calum held up a hand. ‘Look, nobody in this room wants to exploit these creatures. I know what you mean – there are some companies out there who, if they can genetically sequence a newly discovered creature, will try to copyright all the data and then use it to create new drugs and new medical treatments so they can make a profit. And they’ll stop anybody else from benefiting. That’s just wrong.’ He shook his head. ‘No, if a new creature is discovered, then its DNA should be sequenced and released as widely as possible so that everyone can benefit from it. And the population of creatures has to be protected from deliberate theft and from environmental pressures. All of that is fundamental.’
‘So who gets to do that genetic sequencing?’ Tara asked. ‘It’s not like you can buy the kit down at Maplin. Big biotech companies already have the equipment, ready and waiting, but they aren’t well known for their acts of charity.’
Calum shrugged. ‘Universities are the best option, especially if they’re incentivized with a grant from an outside body.’ He raised his hands to forestall Tara’s immediate objection. ‘A no-strings-attached grant, of course.’
‘Do you think,’ Gecko asked, ‘that this Nemor Incorporated might be one of those companies? Do you think they might be wanting to copyright and own some of that DNA that is wandering around out there waiting to be discovered, and they do not appreciate your desire to make the information freely available to everyone?’
That thought effectively killed the conversation for a few moments.
‘That hadn’t occurred to me,’ Calum said slowly. ‘You think that Nemor might want to get a head start on finding, capturing and exploiting any cryptids that get discovered?’
‘It is a thought.’
‘Quite a disturbing one.’ Calum shook his head. ‘I wish I hadn’t put the Almast photograph up on the website now.’
‘Almast?’ Gecko and Tara asked at the same time.
He waved his hand in an apparent attempt to indicate that the information wasn’t important. ‘It’s the name given by the people in Georgia to a local legendary creature that looks like a cross between an ape and a human.’
‘“Georgia” as in the southern state of the USA?’ Tara asked.
Calum shook his head. ‘“Georgia” as in the former Soviet republic, bordered by Russia, Turkey, Ar
menia and Azerbaijan. The Almasti are supposed to live in the South Caucasus Mountains,’ Calum went on, ‘which are generally taken to be the division between Europe and Asia. Some people have thought for a while now that the Almasti legends might be a kind of local memory of a tribe of some kind of primitive prehumans still living in isolation – Neanderthals, or something similar. I’d never taken the stories seriously until someone uploaded a photograph to a file-sharing site.’
He tapped on the wireless keyboard, and a blurry photograph appeared on the multiple-screen array. Gecko stared at it, fascinated. Just like Calum had said, it seemed to show a creature that was somewhere between chimpanzee and human, caught in an unguarded moment as it was walking between two boulders on a sloping patch of ground.
‘Incredible,’ he breathed.
‘You’ve checked for artefacts?’ Tara asked.
‘Artefacts?’ Gecko asked.
‘Traces in the data showing that it’s been manipulated,’ she answered. ‘Hard edges, pixelation, mismatching contrast and saturation levels, that kind of thing.’
‘I checked,’ Calum said. ‘The image is completely undoctored, as far as I can tell. That figure you can see in the photograph was actually there, on that hillside.’
Tara gazed critically at the screens. ‘Could have been a man in a suit.’
‘Unlikely,’ Gecko found himself saying. ‘Look at the way the weight is thrown back. Look at the relative length of the forearms compared to the upper arms. If that’s a man, then it’s a man with severe muscular and skeletal issues.’
‘And you’re an expert on the way people stand?’ Tara asked scornfully.
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I’m a free-runner. I know more about human anatomy and the way it works than most medical students. I have to. For me it’s a matter of survival.’
‘So, we’re agreed that it’s a real image,’ Calum said. ‘The question is: what do we do about it? If you’d asked me an hour ago, I would have said that I’ll try to raise interest and funding through my website for an expedition to Georgia to look for the Almasti, but that could take years to arrange. If Nemor Incorporated is sniffing around, then they could get people out there within a few weeks. And if they find the Almasti, then the consequences could be catastrophic.’
‘They’ll stop any information reaching the public,’ Tara said bleakly. ‘They’ll probably take as many of the Almasti as they can and lock them up in cages in a laboratory. They’ll treat them like animals while they take samples of blood, spinal fluid and bone marrow for testing. If the Almasti do exist, then they should be celebrated, not incarcerated.’
‘They should be allowed to live free,’ Gecko said quietly. ‘Out in the open. Not in cages.’
Tara’s expression was fierce. ‘We need to do something.’ She stared challengingly at Calum. ‘You swear that you don’t want to harm the Almasti?’
He nodded soberly. ‘If they exist . . . if they exist . . . then all I want to do is to get some photographs, take some cell samples and make sure that they’re not in the way of any forest clearance or dam-building programmes.’
‘And you’re not going to turn them into a tourist attraction?’ Gecko asked.
‘Quite the reverse – I want to protect them from any interference from the outside world, no matter how well-intentioned.’
‘And these cell samples.’ Tara was still staring at Calum. ‘How invasive would they be?’
‘Just a simple swab of the inside of the mouth. No discomfort, and just a few seconds to do.’
‘And you would ask their permission?’
He frowned, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him before. ‘I suppose,’ he said cautiously. ‘If I could communicate my intentions to them. I must admit, until now I’d been thinking about new species of beetle or fish, not something that might have an opinion on what I was doing. But yes – if the Almasti exist, then they must have some degree of intelligence, and that means they have the right to make their own choices.’
Gecko felt a kind of pressure in his chest. He could suddenly see a way out of his predicament. The feeling was a bit like the mixture of fear and anticipation that he got just before he performed a jump that he’d never done before. But the leap he was about to take was a psychological one, not a physical one. Although the consequences if he got it wrong might be just as dangerous.
‘Look,’ he said slowly, ‘I have got an idea. Call me stupid if you want, but I think I could go to Georgia and take a look around for you. See if I can find this Almast.’ He swapped to Brazilian Portuguese to make sure that he was expressing himself in the right way. ‘Eu gostaria de voluntaria com minha especializacao,’ he said, and then carefully translated the words for Calum: ‘I would like to volunteer my services.’ He bowed slightly, formally.
Tara gazed at him as if he was mad. Calum, on the other hand, looked at him the way a scientist might stare at a bacterial culture in a Petri dish that had just done something unexpected.
‘Why would you do that?’ he asked eventually.
Gecko shrugged. ‘It sounds like it might be an interesting challenge.’
‘No, you’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to commit funding to this hare-brained scheme.’
Gecko sighed. ‘Look, I am in a little bit of trouble, here in London. I mentioned I am a free-runner, yeah? Well, there is some Eastern European criminal gang that want me to steal stuff for them.’ He sniffed. ‘Cannot say I am that much in favour of the idea. Even ignoring the fact that it is against the law, I would be taking all the risks while they take all the profits. It is a mug’s game, but they have made it clear that I am not really in a position to say no. There is a certain amount of pressure being applied – the kind of pressure that can result in broken arms and legs. And if my arms and legs are broken then where does that leave me? Free-running is my life. It is who I am.’
He realized that his voice was getting louder, and that he was staring intently at a spot on the wooden floorboards as he spoke. He hadn’t realized how much worry he’d been bottling up until he’d uncorked it and allowed it all to come spilling out.
‘So I think that the best thing I can do is clear out for a while. Wait until they have found some other sucker to work for them. The question is: where?’ He gestured up at the broken skylight. ‘When I was up there, I was sorting through my options. I did not think I had any. Now you have caught my interest. If you can spring the cash for a plane ticket, I can head out into the wilds of Georgia and scout the place out for you. Take some photographs, talk to people, see what they say.’ He raised his gaze and glanced at Calum. ‘Look, I will come back and report. Honest.’
‘I don’t doubt that.’ Calum raised an eyebrow. ‘I was just wondering why exactly you’re so confident that you can make it by yourself in a foreign country.’
Gecko shrugged. ‘I have done it before. I used to live in France. Before that I was in Brazil. My father is dead, and my mother is working most hours in the day. I am used to being by myself in a foreign country, and surviving.’ He frowned as a thought struck him. ‘Hey, what language do they speak in Georgia?’
‘Seventy per cent of the population speak Georgian as their first language,’ Calum replied. ‘It’s the country’s own indigenous tongue, which the Russians never managed to eradicate when they were in control. Ten per cent speak Russian, while the remaining twenty per cent speak a variety of languages like Armenian and Azeri. English is quite widely taught in the schools.’
‘Well, if I cannot get by in English, then I can make myself understood in Russian,’ Gecko said with some relief. ‘I learned it a while ago. I guess most of the population, especially the older ones, will speak Russian.’
‘Make sure you speak it with an accent,’ Calum cautioned. ‘I don’t think the ethnic Georgians have much love for the Russian people.’
‘I want to go too,’ Tara said quietly.
Gecko and Calum turned to stare at her. ‘What?’ they asked toge
ther.
‘I said I want to go too.’ She was looking down at the sofa, but she raised her gaze towards Gecko defiantly. ‘What – you think you’re the only one with a good reason for getting out of the country for a while? This Nemor Incorporated have got me in their sights. They won’t forget what I did – or rather, what I didn’t do – for them.’ She glanced over at Calum. ‘I hear what you say about them having more important things to do with their time, but I don’t believe it. In my experience, big powerful corporations get that way by always looking after the details. I’m a detail, and I don’t want to be. So I think I need to get out of the country for a while. Vanish from the grid.’
Calum looked genuinely amazed, and Gecko felt his own jaw drop open in surprise. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having a companion on his travels. On the one hand it would slow him down, but on the other hand it would be nice to have someone to talk to.
Calum was shaking his head, although it seemed to Gecko that there was some reluctance in the movement. ‘No, this is stupid. You’re both teenagers. I can’t ask you to go and do this for me.’
‘You’re not asking us,’ Tara pointed out. ‘And besides, you’re a teenager, and if you could go then you would, wouldn’t you?’
Calum didn’t say anything or move his head, but the expression on his face told Gecko that Tara was right.
‘You’d need some kind of guide,’ Calum said slowly. ‘Someone who knows the area.’
‘We can find someone local,’ Gecko said, but Calum shook his head.
‘There’s no way to know whether we could trust a local guide. It would have to be someone English, someone who comes with a recommendation, who happens to know the area. Not easy to find.’
‘But you’ve got an idea, haven’t you?’ Tara asked shrewdly.
‘I have,’ Calum agreed, ‘but I need to make a phone call . . .’
Natalie Livingstone was lying face down on one of the two single beds in the hotel room when her mother’s iPhone rang.