Mammoth

28

THE security industry was a growth business all through the last half of the twentieth century and showed no signs of slacking off in the first decades of the twenty-first. This was true of both the public and private sectors, but private security usually had the better technology.

There was no lack of private detective agencies if Howard needed manpower on the streets, and plenty of firms that specialized in guards and surveillance equipment stood ready to provide anything from armored personnel carriers to high-altitude robot drones to six-man midget submarines.

He thought briefly about the subs because he'd never been in one. He knew Fuzzy could swim, but where would he swim to? Anyway, a surface boat would do for that. What Howard needed mostly, at first, was helicopters. Before he was done he had chartered over a hundred of them.

Howard, Andrea, and Warburton landed at PDX as the sun was coming up and the rain was tapering off. It was still too cloudy for Howard's needs—satellite technology would be a vital part in the success of this operation, and visible light was often the best medium for a preliminary search, and you couldn't see through clouds—but the forecast was good, with westerly winds moving a high-pressure area over everything from British Columbia to northern California. It should be clear as a bell in a few hours, and into the night, which was far more important.

Andrea called for a cook to come to the airport and make meals in the plane's full galley, otherwise Howard would forget to eat. He would have been content to have Domino's deliver breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but Andrea's tastes were a bit more refined. She had eggs Benedict for breakfast.

Things were already well advanced before they even landed. Still, an operation of this scale takes a certain amount of time to get fully in gear, no matter how much money you offer for speed. Not all the chartered choppers were equipped with the electronics needed for the search; that equipment had to be obtained and installed, crews had to be assembled. A computer laid out a search pattern and assignments were made. All in all, it was eleven before everyone was flying toward their assigned zones.

All the way there in the plane Howard and Warburton had discussed the options open to them as Andrea listened but seldom spoke. They worked out a strategy, and Howard was forced to order his priorities and face some bad possibilities.

"Worst-case scenario," Howard said, "we search for a set time, then we call in the authorities. What's the downside?"

Warburton shrugged. He wasn't going to mention that Howard would look like a fool; that was a given, the whole reason for first trying to find the damned beast themselves. Warburton would have sent up all the flares ten seconds after the first phone call, but he wasn't Howard.

"Not much. You'll catch some flack for not reporting it at once, but the search will be nationwide, and they'll be found."

"Okay. Next-worst scenario. We find them, but it's real public and everybody finds out Fuzzy was stolen. I mean, much as I'd like to, we can't just shoot 'em even if we find them isolated out in the country."

"Howard," Andrea said, "you wouldn't shoot them in any case."

"You're right. But we can hold them at gunpoint, make a citizen's arrest, right? They have stolen a pretty valuable property. They have broken the law."

"As you say, men licensed to carry guns can hold them for you," Warburton said. "They might get charged with something later, since there is no bounty or warrant out on them; we can handle that. But this may not be possible without people finding out about it. In fact, most of the scenarios I can imagine, it's going to get out that Fuzzy was stolen. It may already have. Working with this many people, there will be leaks."

"Understood."

"So... best-case scenario, we find him in a truck on the road somewhere, stop them, and drive quietly back to Fuzzyland. No publicity, no arrests. Chances?"

"Slim."

Howard sighed. "Okay. I'd settle for the second possibility. But until then we look for him, hard, and we work hard to find a way to end this quietly."

"If they've gone to ground in the country, we haven't got a prayer."

"I know that. Every instinct tells me they will stay on the move. They will know they are more conspicuous on lonely country roads, which means they'll stay on the major roads, probably on the freeways. I-84 East and I-5 South get into empty country real fast, so I think they'll head north toward Seattle. Easier to lose yourself in a big city, pull into an RV park or something like that if they need to stop. So our forces on the ground will concentrate on the Seattle metro area. Some of the helicopters will follow every road where they could be, with full electronic enhancement. But I have a feeling we'll catch them with the satellites, tonight."

"Got it. Now, I suggest we set a time frame before we call in the cops. Twenty-four hours."

"From now, or from when he was stolen?"

"The latter."

"Forty-eight hours."

"Split the difference. Noon tomorrow."

"That's not a split... but okay."

Andrea was once more conflicted. Part of her was fascinated by the process of the search. She'd learned a lot already. On the other hand, watching two boys playing soldier or spy or something with such enthusiasm was rather boring. It wasn't her sort of picture at all. She tended to tune out, but found herself coming back to the problem and the discussion, wondering if she could contribute.

"Before we set it all in motion, we need to prepare rules of engagement," Warburton said.

"There should be an armed man with every team. They may have guns."

"Don't be ridiculous, dear. Susan wouldn't use a gun." "Better safe than sorry," Howard insisted. "But I don't want any shooting unless someone is shot at first. No shooting at all if it could endanger Fuzzy."

"Don't worry, Andrea. I don't want to hurt them. Not that way, anyway."

Andrea knew that was the best she could get. She could talk him out of taking his revenge later.

HELICOPTERS fanned out along all the roads leading away from Fuzzyland. With each minute the number of those possible roads and the mileage involved expanded.

A visual inspection was the first step for vehicles on the road. They had a plate number, but most of Howard's advisors expected that to have been changed by now. They ignored the tow vehicle; that could have been changed, too. They were looking, first, for a beige forty-foot 2008 Wilderness fifth wheel with a broad red curving swoosh painted on the side, a fashionable design style for that vintage RV. It had been 3-D computer-modeled from the security videos of its comings and goings at Fuzzyland. There was a three-foot-long dimple on the left side from where Susan had turned too sharply coming home one night and scraped it against a tree. That dimple was still there on the video from just hours ago.

With this information a helicopter could hover over the parking lot of a big shopping center and send pictures back to computers that could pick such a trailer out of thousands of vehicles in seconds. Then the chopper could move in and examine it with infrared.

There were a million holes in the plan, and Howard and Warburton knew it. There were covered parking garages, but very few high enough to admit an RV. As well as switching tow vehicles, they might have switched trailers. A big horse trailer would do fine, so they were being examined, too, and there were thousands of horse trailers out there on the country roads. But a horse in a trailer gave off a very different infrared signature from a mammoth, and they could be quickly eliminated.

Both Susan's and Matt's bank records had been scrutinized and showed that Susan had bought only one RV in her lifetime, and Matt had bought none. Howard didn't know if they had planned this together, but he was certain they had had outside help. If she was smart, she would have kept her outside contact to a minimum. Howard was willing to bet only three or four others beyond Matt and Susan knew anything about this. They would be among the small, clandestine group of animal rights extremists, who as a rule didn't have a lot of money. Of course, one financial angel could have donated another RV for the cause, so if it came to it every RV, horse trailer, and truck for a thousand miles would be examined, but by then it would be in the hands of the police. Howard was going with his instincts, with the percentages, and Susan hadn't had a lot of time to set this all up. She only had Mondays to accomplish the physical parts of the plan, and probably most of the rest, too, since she couldn't risk using her home or office phones or computers at all.

Still, as the hours rolled by he knew his prospects were getting grim. It was just so damn much territory, and if he was guessing wrong about any of the variables he was screwed. All she had to do to beat him was to sit tight in a well-covered place... and wait to be picked up by the police. He was feeling more depressed than at any time he could remember as the reports kept coming in. Twenty-three similar trailers had been located so far and examined more closely, and they'd come up empty. He had to wait for night.

"So, have you figured out where she's going yet?" she asked.

"Hell, no. It's a big country." Howard took a bite of the fancy sandwich and wished he could

have ordered out for a Big Mac. "Damn right it is, and that means you're just wasting a lot of money and letting them get farther

away, which the police won't appreciate when you are finally forced to call them in."

"Is that what you're saying? Call them in now?"

"No, my dear. I'm saying, let's narrow the search."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"By thinking like Susan. Why did she steal Fuzzy?"

Howard snorted. "Because she objects to him performing like—what was it she said last time

we had it out over this?—'a trained seal.' As if she hasn't spent all her life making wild animals perform—"

"Never mind that. She's obviously had a change of heart."

"Unless she just wants to poke me in the eye," Howard said sullenly.

"No, dear, that's your style, not hers."

Howard said nothing. She was right. He was working on it, but knew he'd never entirely get his thirst for revenge under control. That's what they were doing here in the first place, instead of staying back home tending to things he could really do something about.

"What does she want for Fuzzy?" Andrea went on.

"She wants him to roam free and natural and not be 'exploited.' " He couldn't keep the sneer out

of his voice.

"Where can she find that for him?"

"Nowhere. Not as long as I own him. Damn it, I don't treat that animal badly. He works twice a

day, he is the most pampered animal in the world, he is happy—he seems happy to you, doesn't—"

"Yes, I think he's happy. Susan thinks it'd be better if he were in a wild animal park of some kind. She wants him out in the open air. She wants him to browse his own grass and eat leaves off wild trees." "Impossible. That nut shot at him."

"So what's your point?"

"You think Susan is stupid enough to go through all this merely to move him from one prison to another? With a smaller jail cell when he gets there?"

"You're going to make me ask the question, aren't you? Okay, where is she taking him?"

"Canada."

Howard laughed. Actually it was more of a snort. Andrea didn't mind.

"Right. With her other troubles, she needs to cross an international border."

"The longest undefended international border in the world. Large parts of it, mostly in Washington and Idaho and Montana, are thickly wooded, sparsely inhabited wilderness, not very well patrolled."

Howard was beginning to look thoughtful.

"But when she's there... she's got the same problem. Hide him, or lose him."

"Not necessarily. Circus animal acts are illegal in Canada now. Have been for... how many years?"

"Eight or nine, I guess," Howard said, grumpily. It was a sore point with him. There were no longer circuses in most of Western Europe, and a growing but still minority movement wanted to ban animal acts and rodeos in the United States. He had wanted to take Fuzzy on a triumphant world tour, but it was never going to happen. There were plans for an Asian tour. People were still less fussy over there. The Japanese, with their cultural quirk for cuteness, were wild about Fuzzy; he sold more big-eyed Fuzzy soft toys there than anywhere in the world. In China Big Mama was the star, for some reason. Russia felt a cultural identification with mammoths. The huge majority of the frozen ones had been found in Siberia, and there were places where ancient mammoth bones piled up like driftwood. Russians were gaga about both of Howard's mammoths.

"So what? He still belongs to me."

"Maybe, maybe not. You remember the court decisions awarding him to you were highly controversial. I suspect you greased some wheels." "Me? Bribe a judge?" He grinned.

Howard said nothing.

"Once she got him across the border... what if she turned herself in? What if a team of lawyers was waiting for her when she got there? Do they call them solicitors up there? Anyway... how long do you think they could keep him tied up in court?"

"Years," Howard muttered. He was resting his chin on his clasped hands, frowning. "I don't have a lot of connections in Canada, not like down here."

"I did a little Internet search while I was thinking this over. Canadian public opinion is solidly behind the 'Free Fuzzy' movement. Once he's actually there, I think it would be the rare Canadian who would want to let him go back to the circus."

"But what does Susan gain?"

Andrea ticked off points on her fingers. "Time, first of all. Like you said, maybe years. Two, Fuzzy doesn't have to perform. The Canadian authorities aren't fools; they'll protect him. They could move him far, far north, near where his natural habitat would be, put him in a preserve with no roads leading in while the case is being adjudicated. Every day he stays free, it would be harder for you to get him back."

Howard thought about it for almost a full minute. Then he smiled.

"Darling, I've finally found a woman as smart as me."

"Smarter," Andrea said.

Howard laughed, and picked up the phone. "Captain, we're joining Mr. Warburton at Sea-Tac Airport, as soon as you can get clearance." He punched another button. "Warburton, pull everything you've got out of Oregon and California. Concentrate the search in the Seattle metro area, but most of all along the Canadian border. I want teams at every crossing, and continuous helicopter patrols from Puget Sound to Montana. I'll tell you about it when I get there."

Then he stood up, pulled Andrea from her chair, and kissed her.

THE lady is pretty smart, Warburton admitted to himself after Howard called back to explain Andrea's reasoning. Both of them were. He wouldn't have thought of it; his mind didn't work that way. He wouldn't embark on a project knowing he would get caught... but it seemed the best possible outcome, in Susan's terms. Warburton didn't like Susan, didn't like Andrea even more—she was always getting in his way. Warburton didn't really like anybody very much, not even Howard. He didn't have much of a life outside his job, but the job satisfied him and had made him quite wealthy over the years. He was a born problem solver, that was his thing, and he had very few scruples. Fuck the rules of engagement. He was enough of a realist to know that pointing a gun at two people and shouting Freeze! was worse than pointless unless you were prepared to use it. He would shoot to wound, the leg or the foot, if he could. But if worse came to worst he would do what he had to do. Like any cautious cop, he carried an untraceable piece-of-shit throwdown weapon to put in the hand of an awkward corpse. He had killed men twice before—only when he had to; he was not a maniac. He had suffered no nightmares. He knew he could do it.

The other assistant was the owner and operator of the company, a white man fully as big as Blackstone and bald as an egg, though not by choice, by the name of Crowder. He claimed to be the best at urban environments. Warburton wasn't quite so sure about him. They were looking at a wall-sized electronic map of Washington State and lower British Columbia. Locations and unit numbers of all the aerial and ground search teams currently in operation were displayed. There were a lot of them. A whole lot of them. Maybe even enough to do the job...

The dots and numbers representing searchers moved every few seconds, adjusted by the GPS units each team carried. Most of the air units and many on the ground were now converging on the border.

"Legal crossing points at Blaine, the big one," Blackstone said. He moved a controller and highlighted as he spoke. "Then here at State Road 539, here at Sumas, and not another until way over here, at Lenton Flat. Pretty rough country through there. I wouldn't want to climb it with a mammoth."

"Hannibal crossed the Alps with war elephants. Patrol it anyway."

"Sure. Then there are seven more before you get to Idaho. You figure they'll try to drive across, or follow one of these roads close to the border and walk it?"

"Hard to say. Either way will be tough."

"Here in the west it's fairly flat, farmland, they'd stick out like a sore thumb. Fewer people in the eastern part, a lot of it's pretty arid. Desert. I wouldn't go that route, myself."

"What would you do?"

"Given what you told me? I'd try to drive up to one of the crossings out here in the boonies, go right up to the customs station and turn myself in."

"They've got to cross first. Do we have a team at all of them yet?"

"We will in fifteen more minutes. Stopping them could be awkward, though. U.S. Customs will probably object if you shoot out their tires this side of the line."

"Loud and clear."

"Crowder, you'll continue looking in the Seattle area on the ground, and we'll give you a few helicopters to screen the freeways, but send most of the teams into the country up north. I want somebody in a four-wheel drive within ten minutes of every logging road in that forest, every dirt trail in that desert. I want at least one cross-country motorbike in the back of every vehicle. They have to leave the trailer on a road somewhere if they try to cross on foot. I don't think they'll try to cross at Blaine, I understand there are traffic jams up there."

"They can stretch for miles," Crowder agreed. "We've got three teams there, and we can stop them before they even see the border."

"Good. When it gets dark we'll get the satellites to work, and I'm betting we spot them somewhere out in the wilderness within an hour. We have to be ready to move on them. Anything else?"

"What about ferries?" Crowder said.

"Ferries?"

Crowder touched the keyboard and the map view zoomed in on the waters of the area, from the entrance to the estuary at the Georgia Strait, running between the Olympic Peninsula and Vancouver Island, to Olympia at the south end, and the city of Vancouver to the north. There was a lot of water, and a lot of islands. A spiderweb of lines appeared, running all over the water.

"We've always had good ferries up here."

"Never been on one," Blackstone said with a grin. "I get seasick in the bathtub."

"Last ten years they've been adding more. Federal grants or some shit like that, ease the freeway congestion, not that it did a damn bit of good. There's three times as many ferries now as when I was a kid."

"How many go to Canada?"

Crowder touched the keyboard again, and most of the lines disappeared.

"You got your B.C. ferries, and you got your Washington State ferries. One from Port Angeles, on the peninsula, to Victoria, on Vancouver Island. From here at Anacortes to Sidney and Vancouver. Also from Bellingham to Vancouver, and from Everett to Victoria and Vancouver."

"It'd be a dumb way to go. Sometimes you can wait for hours to get aboard."

"Cover them anyway. It would be a perfect place to catch them quietly."

"Will do."

Warburton leaned back and sighed. He realized he hadn't eaten yet today, and it was almost evening. He asked someone to have a pizza delivered.

We'll catch them tonight. The satellites will find them.