Border Prey

by Jessica Speart

  “Sonuvabitch! I knew it!” Kitrell pounded his fists together. “There’s no way a man like Krabbs would give up all that valuable acreage to a land trust.”

  “It gets even better. Southwest Heritage bought Pierpont’s biotech company when it went bankrupt. Pierpont now works for them as some sort of subcontractor.”

  Grizzly stood stock still and stared. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  I silently shook my head, not prepared to hazard a guess.

  “Pierpont has to be working on something that F.U. and his cronies are betting will bring in one hell of a huge profit. Otherwise they’d never fund such a venture. It also must be highly illegal, which is why it’s being kept secret.”

  “Maybe Krabbs and his friends just want to keep whatever it is all for themselves. Could be it’s some superduper new form of Viagra,” Sonny suggested.

  “Nonetheless, their product must nearly be ready for market,” Dan speculated.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “I’m sure what we saw coming in last night were juvenile chimps,” he said. “Pierpont would use less expensive, more expendable monkeys for the initial creation of a product and all the way up to its final stage of development. He wouldn’t risk losing a valuable primate like a chimp until his mystery drug was finally ready for a clinical trial run. So he must be at that point now.”

  “What kind of primates would Pierpont have worked with before this?” I questioned.

  “Probably something cheap and easy to get hold of, like Rhesus macaques or African greens,” Kitrell replied.

  A goodly number of both species had been at Admiral Maynard’s place. “How about squirrel or spider monkeys?” I persisted. “Would those be used as well?”

  Dan grimly nodded. “Sure. Researchers test with them all the time.”

  It now made sense why Timmy Tom had brought in such large shipments of spider and squirrel monkeys for the One World Zoo. Then he must have lost his contract when Pierpont no longer required those, but wanted something more special, which Timmy Tom was unable obtain. Say, smuggled chimps. Evidently that was the admiral’s forte.

  I remembered Lizzie’s bombshell and every nerve in my body began to tingle. “One more thing. I told you Pierpont used to work for the government. But what I didn’t fill you in on was the project. He was involved with DNA analysis.”

  “Well, he’d have to be if he were trying to clone a dog, wouldn’t he?” Grizzly replied, with a note of condescension.

  If this was a game of one-upmanship, I intended to rise to the top with the ease of a trapeze artist. “That’s true,” I retorted. “Except his work involved the dissection of chimpanzee DNA.”

  Grizzly’s face abruptly turned pale at that bombshell. “Dear God! We’ve got to get out there right now! I only hope Pierpont’s not involved in what I’m afraid he’s doing.”

  Grizzly’s reaction transformed the butterflies in my stomach into an angry nest of hornets. “Which is?” I questioned, half afraid to know the answer.

  “There’s no time to explain—but it’s something involving Gracie.” Kitrell headed for the door. “We’ve got a ranch to invade. Let’s get moving.”

  I followed, wondering if Pierpont was cloning a factory line of little Gracies.

  “Hold on there a second!” Sonny called out. He pulled Johnny Lambert’s battered cowboy hat off the unconscious man’s head, and threw it to Grizzly. “Put that on, along with a pair of sunglasses,” he instructed.

  “What for?” Kitrell asked, momentarily perplexed.

  “So that whoever catches sight of you from a distance will think you’re Johnny Lambert. You’re also gonna want to take his vehicle in place of your own.”

  “Who are you two, anyway? Cagney and Lacey?” Grizzly inquired with a grin.

  “Personally, I see us more as Starsky and Hutch,” Sonny retorted without missing a beat. “Just remember, I’m giving you just three and a half hours!”

  “What’s he talking about?” Dan asked as we stepped outside.

  “Nothing we need to be concerned with,” I responded, hoping I was right.

  Johnny Lambert’s black Suburban sat alongside my house. Kitrell opened the cargo doors to find the van still contained one of the crates from the night before. He pulled out the box and replaced it with wire cages from inside his own vehicle.

  “What are those for?” I asked, the prickles multiplying to cover my entire body.

  “For Gracie,” Kitrell replied with stone cold determination. “And whatever else we might find.”

  Seventeen

  The sky was beginning to marbleize with color, its soft pastel hues ready for baking in the morning sun’s kiln. I could almost feel the pull of Mount Riley drawing me, as strongly as a magnetic force, even before it came into view.

  We arrived to find the gate snugly secured by a padlock. I rustled through the bag of goodies I’d transferred from my Ford and produced a pair of large metal snips.

  “Let me do the honors,” Grizzly snarled, taking them from my hand. “I’m in the mood for tearing into something, and this will do for starters.”

  Kitrell surgically dismembered the lock and then gleefully threw the gate wide open.

  I hopped out after we’d driven through and closed the gate behind us.

  “I’m sorry about this morning,” I offered, as we drove down the gravel road.

  “It’s okay, Porter. I understand. Sometimes it’s hard to know who you can trust. That’s why the two of us are loners,” he said with a shrug.

  There was no need to say any more. Soon we reached the ranch house, along with our first hurdle—the alarm pad controlling the gate to the main body of land.

  “No sweat. It’s probably the same code we use on the Happy Hunting Ranch,” Kitrell assured me.

  His fingers reached outside and entered a series of numbers. But the gate adamantly refused to budge.

  “Shit! Wouldn’t you know that crazy old coot would use a different code here?” Grizzly complained.

  A thought hit me like a cattle prod. “Hand me that slip of paper I gave you last night with all the numbers!”

  Grizzly poked in his pockets to produce the wrinkled slip of paper.

  “Try punching in that first series and let’s see what we get,” I suggested, hoping my hunch proved correct.

  Kitrell took another few stabs at the alarm, eventually entering three sets of the numbers. However, the alarm’s grip remained tighter than Ma Krabbs’ hold on her money.

  “Goddammit to hell!” he furiously hissed. Then he punched in the last set—Gracie’s ID number—and the gate effortlessly flew open.

  We drove through and the gate automatically closed behind us.

  “Okay. Take a look around, and tell me what you remember from when you were here,” Kitrell said.

  “I recall some motor homes, and a pole barn situated against a mesa, as well as livestock drinking from a water tank. Oh, I also spotted Pierpont driving by and chased him down,” I added as an afterthought. “He paused long enough to warn me to stay out of his way.”

  “Well, you’re doing one hell of a job on that front,” Grizzly remarked.

  “Thanks,” I responded, keeping an eye out for landmarks. “I think we should head over here.”

  I pointed off to my left. Grizzly followed my finger as if it were a compass, and it wasn’t long before a distant mesa floated in to view.

  “That’s the area Johnny Lambert and I drove through.”

  Kitrell pressed on the Suburban’s accelerator, but slowed down as we passed the metal pole barn with its corral.

  “What is it that we’re looking for, anyway?” I restlessly asked, checking my watch. An hour and fifteen minutes had already elapsed since we’d left the house.

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Kitrell distractedly replied.

  We’d nearly reached the end of the mesa when Grizzly slammed on the brakes and turned off the engine.

 
“Why are we stopping here?” I asked in alarm.

  Dan had his head cocked to one side, with his eyes closed, as if listening to a desert rhapsody. He placed a finger to his lips.

  “Shhh. Don’t say a word,” he whispered. “Just sit and listen.”

  All I heard at first was the murmur of tumbleweed keening a lonely Western tune. Then the whir of locusts broke through the silence—except their chatter held a mechanical edge. The humming originated from somewhere near the water tank.

  “What do you think that sound is?” I asked, my voice soft as a puff of smoke.

  Kitrell shook his head, continuing to listen. “I have absolutely no idea. What say we go and find out?”

  It wasn’t until we’d parked next to the metal container that I realized how enormous it was.

  “I’ve never seen a water tank this size before. How big do you think it is?” I asked.

  “Taking a guess, I’d say around fifty feet in diameter,” Grizzly replied, checking the rearview mirror. “Nobody seems to be in the area. Let’s step outside and poke around a little.”

  The whirring sound was now a good deal louder, and appeared to originate from deep within the tank itself.

  We walked over to the four-foot high metal wall, and looked down to see that the water was contained in a donut-shaped trough. This moat cleverly masked what lay in the vat’s center: a separate, roofless container. The sound seemed like the buzz of giant fans, but we couldn’t see beyond the moat from where we were standing.

  I turned to find Kitrell scrambling onto the Suburban’s roof, where he stood silhouetted against the sun. He let loose a low whistle.

  “Come up here. You’ve got to get a load of this,” he said quietly.

  I made my way on to the vehicle’s hood, and Kitrell grabbed my hand to pull me up beside him.

  Rising up from the ground were five silver pipes evenly spaced within the center—and large, industrial sized fans were mounted on their tops.

  “Very clever,” Kitrell acknowledged. “Whoever designed this facility took the time to plan it out well.”

  I gazed around, wondering what Grizzly was talking about. All I could see was miles of endless desert.

  “Exactly what is it that we’re looking at?” I asked, feeling left out.

  “While anyone passing by will see cattle drinking and be faked out, the container’s real purpose is right there in the middle,” Dan said, directing my gaze to the tank’s center.

  “Which is?” I repeated in exasperation.

  “Those tall silver shafts are intake pipes for a ventilation system,” he explained.

  “What’s being ventilated? There isn’t anything out here besides some lonely looking cows,” I stubbornly responded.

  “Sure there is,” Kitrell softly replied. “Take another look around.”

  I gazed at the barren land until my eyes fell on what lay directly in front of me—the protruding mesa which thrust up out of the ground like an enormous coffin.

  “That?” I asked, pointing to the tabletop mountain.

  “Exactly!” Grizzly exclaimed. “What you’re looking at is the perfect camouflage for a secret underground facility. It’s being supplied with air from those pipes. And that tells me Pierpont doesn’t want any re-circulation, but only one-hundred percent passed-through air.”

  “Why would he want that?” I asked, trying to understand.

  “Probably because whatever he’s working on needs to be contained. Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked grimly.

  I nodded, not having the slightest idea what he was talking about.

  “How do you suppose we break into this thing?” I asked, glancing at my watch again. Time was ticking away, and I had yet to spot an arrow pointing to a sign that said, Entrance.

  “There must be a door disguised as something else,” Grizzly replied, looking about.

  Ha! I realized where the entrance into the plateau had to be. “The way inside is through the pole barn.”

  Grizzly’s face lit up. “You’re right! The cover couldn’t be more perfect!”

  I was just feeling like a Grade A student when Kitrell abruptly turned toward me.

  “This is something I have to do, Porter. If you’re smart, you’ll stay the hell out of it,” he sternly advised.

  “If I were smart, I’d never have gotten myself exiled to Texas to begin with. Why should I change my track record now?” I retorted. “There’s no way you’re leaving me behind. Don’t even try!”

  Grizzly’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “If we make it through this, I’ll teach you how to free coyotes,” he promised.

  “It’s a deal,” I agreed.

  We scrambled off the truck roof and into the vehicle, backtracking to the pole barn. Guarding its entrance were large double doors, along with another touchpad alarm.

  “Let’s drag out those damn numbers again,” Grizzly grumbled. “You keep an eye open and make sure no one sneaks up on us.”

  Kitrell tapped in Gracie’s ID number again and the doors obediently pivoted open.

  We drove inside the empty shell of a building, where a road sloped downward into darkness. Kitrell stopped at a post which held a solitary red button.

  “Okay, Miss Genius. What do you suppose this is?” he asked, with a nod.

  “It better be for closing the doors, or else we’re in trouble,” I responded. “It won’t take long for someone to notice the barn is wide open.”

  Kitrell quickly punched the button, and the doors closed, sealing us inside.

  I stared into the dark abyss as a growing sense of foreboding embraced me. “What do you suppose Pierpont’s doing down there?” I whispered.

  “Something that he shouldn’t be.” Kitrell glowered.

  We turned on the van’s headlights, and followed our fate down the road. The path led directly to a small lot where just one SUV sat parked. I breathed a sigh of relief, secretly glad to discover no cherry red Jeep. In front of us was an elevator, whose door smoothly slid open. We left our vehicle and walked toward it.

  “After you,” said Dan, with a cordial wave of his hand.

  Great. I got to play guinea pig. Inside were three buttons to choose from, offering to take us to Lower Level 2 or 3.

  “Okay, what does your womanly instinct suggest?” Dan queried.

  My instinct was to call in the Desert Storm troops and get ourselves some back-up.

  “Let’s start at Level 3, and work our way up,” I proposed.

  Dan’s finger hit the button.

  The elevator glided down and noiselessly came to a halt, opening to a hall of concrete covered in sterile whitewash. The pervasive hush was heavy as a cemetery’s at midnight. Dan took my hand silently and we headed for the first closed door. Kitrell tapped lightly. Receiving no response, we slipped into the room to find stacks of paper clothes neatly folded in piles.

  “Put these on,” Kitrell commanded, handing me a pair of coveralls.

  After that came booties, followed by paper hats, until we resembled two fast order cooks at McDonald’s.

  “This is a good sign,” Dan remarked, while cuffing up my pants. “If the chimps were infected with some sort of contagious disease, the clothing would be far more protective.”

  He fastened a cloth mask around my nose and mouth, and I did the same for him. Then we headed back out into the hall, fully cloaked in our disguises.

  Swish, swish, swish, whispered our paper-clad feet, sounding like dust mops waltzing down the corridor. Kitrell cracked open the door to each room, followed by a shake of his head, after which we moved on. Soon a musky aroma snuck beneath our masks: the odor of chimps. Our steps grew faster.

  We didn’t stop to check each room; that was no longer necessary as faint whimpers reached our ears. We raced toward the sound and, without stopping, flung open the door and entered.

  Four tiny chimps sat locked in small prisons. They stared back at us, probably wondering what was going to happen to them next. Two of them had
most likely been part of the smuggled cargo last night. Perhaps Timmy Tom had stumbled upon the delivery of the other pair, which was why he’d been murdered.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe now,” I softly reassured my new-found charges.

  Two diminutive arms stretched toward me, begging to be comforted. That was all the prompting I needed. I was ready to rip apart each wire cage. I heard the door open behind me and whirled to catch Kitrell heading out.

  “Where are you going? We can’t just leave them here!” I exploded.

  “We’ll come back. But first I have to find Gracie,” Kitrell tensely informed me.

  I took one last look at the young chimps and promised to return, then slipped away. Kitrell was already tearing down the hall, opening doors. Then he stepped inside a room and disappeared. For a moment, I feared that he’d been caught and all was lost. Until I heard the soft cry “Gracie!,” and knew Kitrell had found what he’d been searching for.

  I walked in on a reunion I’d never forget. Kitrell knelt beside a cage that was clearly a cell. Inside sat its gloomy prisoner with her back to the wall. Dan slowly pulled down his mask and gently asked, “Do you remember me, Gracie?” in a trembling voice. All the while, his fingers carefully formed each precious word.

  The chimp gazed at Dan and then at his hands, which quickly repeated their message. The melancholy clouding her eyes visibly began to brighten. A series of soft pant-hoots left her lips as she tentatively approached him. Gracie hooted once more, and then eagerly signed back, the flood gate of pent-up emotions opened. They focused on each other as if they were the only two beings on the planet, their fingers dancing in a language I couldn’t speak, exchanging secrets I wasn’t privy to.

  “What’s she saying?” I asked, clamoring to be included.

  Dan laughed and tell-tale tears escaped his eyes. “Gracie knows me! She even remembers my nickname!”

  “What is it?” I asked, dealing with my own case of sniffles.

  “Gracie would pick flowers, which she called ‘pretty,’ and weave them in my beard,” Dan replied, his fingers still moving in a private conversation. “One day she linked the two activities together and came up with the nickname ‘Pretty Beard.’ That’s what she’s calling me now. It’s the reason I never shaved this thing—I was afraid that if I did, when I finally found Gracie, she wouldn’t know who I was.” Kitrell’s voice caught in his throat. “But Gracie didn’t forget me.”