Mammoth

31

NIGHT fell, and the satellites opened their infrared eyes.

Howard paid for time on every high-resolution commercial orbiter as they came over the horizon until they sank below it. He stayed on the plane with Andrea, parked at the Executive Terminal, monitoring his bank of screens and listening to incoming reports from units in the field—all negative so far—while Warburton and his team watched similar displays in the war room of the security company only about half a mile away. Warburton was sure they would try to sneak over somewhere in the wilderness, so he concentrated on the eyes scanning the border, from Blaine to western Montana. They set the system to look for trailers of the right size, and for large animals. The heat-sensitive cameras could pick out a single rabbit but the computers were good at sorting through that. They quickly discarded the garbage and sent the larger hits to the screens for a human to decide if it was worth checking out.

There was a herd of cattle. Warburton watched as the computer examined several areas that turned out to be nothing but clumps of cows that made an unusually large heat signature. More cows. A group of people hiking along a mountain trail. He could see their arms and legs moving, and the beams of their flashlights. Kind of late to be moving around in the woods. Here was a group of five deer. More deer. More people. Deer, deer, deer, man alone, deer, deer... what was that? Bear. Now there was a car, a tent, a campfire, and two people... my, that's an interesting position.

It was the last interesting thing Warburton saw for several hours.

THE clock swung past midnight, eased into the wee hours. Warburton had to stop and rest his eyes every fifteen minutes or so. He hadn't had any idea there were so many deer in the whole country, and this was just a narrow strip of Washington and the tip of Idaho. Not to mention RVs. Those were fairly easy. A mammoth in an RV or a truck would shine like a beacon. They had found hundreds of garage-type fifth wheels, some with a heat source at the back where Fuzzy would be standing, but a quick look always showed it to be the still-warm engines of off-roaders like the one Susan had probably abandoned on the roadside somewhere.

He wasn't discouraged yet, they could be undercover somewhere waiting for the occasional border patrol vehicle to go by, but they had to go across sometime, and he was sure they would be detected. But he had thought to have them by now, he had to admit that. Time to go back over it, question his assumptions. Was he missing something?

He called up an area map and looked at it, tried to make it tell him something. After a few minutes he frowned.

"What's this?" he asked Crowder, pointing to the tip of a little peninsula about ten miles west of Blaine. It was an almost perfect square, two miles on a side. He hadn't noticed it before, but it was a different color from the land above it.

"That's the nipple on the hind teat of Canada," Crowder said, with a chuckle.

Warburton waited.

"It's called Point Roberts. Back when somebody was drawing that straight-line border that starts back in Minnesota, that line nicked that little peninsula. 'Fifty-four, forty, or fight,' or some shit like that. It's part of the U.S. Hardly anybody goes there but Canucks crossing to get bargains on stuff that's more expensive up there."

"So there's a border crossing?" "Sure."

Crowder typed a moment, and the map which had been told to display only ferries that went from the United States to Canada now showed the whole maze of Washington State ferries. Sure enough, a couple lines went to Point Roberts.

"Another boondoggle, you ask me," Crowder said. "Just north of the border is the great big

B.C. ferry slip at Tsawwassen. Who needs another ferry?" Sawasen? Warburton hated the stupid names up here. Humptulips, Mukilteo, Puyallup... why couldn't they speak English?

"The ferries that go there. Where do they come from?"

"Let's see... here's one from Anacortes, one from Bellingham, and one from Friday Harbor."

"The first two are covered. Where's Friday Harbor?"

"San Juan Islands." Crowder pointed to a maze of islands, all highly irregular in shape. It looked as if there were three or four big ones and dozens of small ones. "One of the ferries from Anacortes to Sidney, in B.C., stops a couple places in the San Juans, including Friday Harbor."

"But we've got that covered."

"Yeah." Crowder frowned at the map. "But there's one that stops at Friday Harbor before going on to Point Roberts."

"Where does it start?"

"Right here. Port Townsend. Over on the Olympic Peninsula."

All they had over there was one team, at Port Angeles, covering the ferry that went to Victoria. Plus, once they decided Susan was going to Canada, they hadn't been checking the main highway over there, US 101, or much of anything, for that matter. Warburton had thought the only way to Canada via the Olympic Peninsula was through Port Angeles, since he had asked only for international ferries.

It was a serious lapse on Crowder's part—he should have thought of the border crossing at Point Roberts—but Warburton wasn't going to take him to task for it. Not right now, anyway. He addressed Crowder and Blackstone.

"I don't want you to mention this to anybody. Not even Howard, yet. You know we've been picking up chatter, there's been some leaks from some of our employees, naturally, and some notice of what's going on along the border. The news and the police are just starting to get wind that somebody's looking for something the size of an elephant. But I may still have a chance to wrap this up quietly. I'm going out to take a look for myself. If there's a newsman waiting when I get there, I'll know how he found out, understand?" "Don't worry," Blackstone said. Warburton nodded, and went outside to his helicopter, thinking he would retire after this one was over, and never set foot in another helicopter again. He was getting too old for this shit.

There was a motorcycle in the backseat of the chopper. Warburton wrestled it out, pulled on a warm black leather coat and helmet, and headed out. It had a good muffler on it, making no more than a powerful purr as he moved down the deserted streets. Halfway there it started to rain again, the low-pressure system he had been watching and worrying about all night moving in from the Pacific just now arriving here in the western part of the state. He flipped down his visor.

He arrived at the park, killed the engine, and coasted down a slight slope, going by the office, and laid the bike down in shadows. He walked down the rows of sleeping juggernauts and almost missed the one he was looking for. The red stripe was gone, and the long dimple in the side had been painted over.

Smart girl. He had expected no less.

He raised his infrared glasses and looked at the back wall. It looked like somebody had painted the outline of a seven-foot-tall mammoth on the side of the trailer in bright green. As he watched, the mammoth's trunk curled up toward his mouth.

He scanned along the trailer and when he got to the bedroom, perched out above the bed of the pickup truck he saw, for the second time that night, the infrared figures of a couple making love.

Enjoy it while you can, kids.

He got out his phone and called Howard.

"WARBURTON has found them," Howard said.

Andrea looked up from the magazine she had been reading, trying to stay awake. After she had set them on the right track she had completely lost interest in the search. Again, she was far from sure whose side she was on, though she felt she had owed it to Howard to give him her advice.

"Crossing the border?"

"No, but you were right. They plan to cross in the morning." He explained it to her as they left the plane and walked the short distance to the helicopter. A wind was rising, and she could see storm clouds to the west. Not her idea of a good night to fly, but she wasn't too worried about it. They got aboard and lifted off quickly. They passed out over water and then Howard, sitting beside her in the backseat, looked thoughtful. They were wearing earpiece/mike units so they could talk over the noise of the chopper. Howard keyed the pilot.

"It's on Whidbey Island, sir. The Admiralty Inlet to Puget Sound lies between them. Say ten air miles."

Howard smiled.

"Let's arrive in style," he said to Andrea, then punched a name into his telephone. "Hello? Frank? It's Howard Christian... yeah, I know what time it is. I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important. What it is, I was wondering if I could borrow your boat?" He held the phone away from his ear and grinned at Andrea. "Okay, charter... you owe me, Frank, and now I'll owe you... okay, you talk to my pilot now, and call the harbormaster, get him out there with the keys. Talk to you later, Frank."

THE boat was an eighty-foot Bertram with twin 1500 horsepower engines. Howard was not much of a nautical man, though he owned a larger yacht than this at Bahia Mar, Lauderdale, and sometimes puttered around the inland waterways of Florida in it. He knew how to pull away from the dock and he knew how to pull into the dock, what was so tough about that? Besides, this rig could literally drive itself. You could input a destination and it would plot the best course and keep a radar eye out for traffic. No need to look for channel markers or worry about tides or depth or weather. If there was a problem, the boat would tell you about it and tell you what to do.

Howard and Andrea boarded, cast off, and pulled slowly away from the small marina at the north end of Whidbey Island, threaded through a passage marked on the electronic chart as Deception Pass, and then moved into moderately choppy seas down the west side of the island and into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

Halfway there Warburton called.

"They're moving. I'm behind them, they should get there in five minutes. I'll meet you there."

"See you in twenty minutes."

THEY drove the trailer down a ramp and onto a pier jutting out into the sound. It looked new, or recently refurbished; all that federal money, Warburton guessed. The pier was four lanes wide, paved, and had a stout barrier at the end where the ferry would dock in a few hours. The truck and trailer pulled up to the barrier and cut its lights and engine. The first departure was at six A.M. There were no other vehicles parked on the pavement.

Warburton got off his motorcycle at the top of the ramp and walked slowly down toward the trailer. There were two empty lanes to the left of it, where cars would pull off the ferry. Near the barrier was a stairway leading down to a small dock that should accommodate Howard's boat when it arrived. Warburton wasn't sure the boat was a good idea, but it was better than landing a helicopter here in the middle of the night, which was sure to attract attention. And anyway, this was how Howard wanted to do it, and he was the boss.

"Howard...," Andrea said.

"Just a precaution, darling," Howard said. He knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he knocked again. The curtain covering the window in the door was raised, but they couldn't see anything inside. Warburton held up the pistol, pointing toward the sky. The door opened, and steps extended themselves hydraulically.

"Come on out, Susan," Howard said into the darkness.

"What if I call CNN?"

"Then I look foolish for a while, and you both go to jail. Is it worth it?"

Susan snapped on an outside light and an inside one. She and Matt were standing there, hastily dressed, barefoot. Susan was crying. Matt had no expression.

"Can I say good-bye to him?"

"I'll give you one minute."

Susan moved toward the back of the trailer. Howard didn't like the look Andrea was giving him. Well, what was I supposed to do, let her get away with it? He had expected to feel a lot better about this, but the sense of triumph of only a few moments ago seemed to have washed away in the rain. Why did she have to cry? I'm not a bully. I've been bullied, until I got too big to push around.

Matt came down the steps and stood there, getting wet, giving Susan her privacy. His eyes never left Howard, but he said nothing.

Susan appeared, drying her eyes on her sleeve, and started down the steps.

Fuzzy bellowed.

The whole trailer shook. In the back, the side of the trailer dimpled inward, then sprung back. Another bellow, and again the dimple appeared, and this time it didn't pop back out.

Howard hastily climbed the steps and stuck his head in the door. The mammoth was agitated, rocking back and forth against his chains, but Howard had seen this arrangement before, he knew even Big Mama could not have torn herself loose. The sides of the trailer were holding. Maybe it would be necessary to let Susan ride back here on the return to Fuzzyland, keep him calmed down until he got back in his familiar quarters.

Then he saw the time machine, sitting right there on the table with its top open. Suddenly all the excitement he had been feeling came rushing back at him. It was a good day. It was a damn good day!

He sat where Matt had been sitting and just stared at it for a moment, visions of T. rexes and brontosaurs dancing in his head. Matthew Wright wasn't the only genius in the world, not the only man who could figure this thing out. In fact, according to Matt, he never had figured it out. The damn thing just turned itself on, took him somewhere, and then brought him back again.

Matt was the only one who witnessed the thing doing whatever it did, and that might help, so maybe he could work out a deal with him to work on it again, though the prospect made him feel like gagging.

Whatever. It had been demonstrated that the thing worked, that was beyond question, and if it worked once Howard could make it work again.

He closed the lid, noticing the dents made when that maniac hit it that night in the warehouse. He snapped the catches, and stood up. He didn't hear the sound of Fuzzy's harness leather ripping.

The next thing he knew, Fuzzy had wrapped his trunk around his neck and slammed him to the floor on his back. He looked up into two tons of angry, hairy death as Fuzzy rammed his massive head downward. He screamed.

Susan bolted back up the stairs. Fuzzy had Howard pinned to the floor, one tusk just missing him on the right, the other poking into the aluminum case on Howard's left.

"Fuzzy! Up, Fuzzy, up! Up, Fuzzy!"

The mammoth paused, down on his knees.

"Up, Fuzzy! That's a good boy. Up, Fuzzy."

Fuzzy moved back slightly, got to his feet, looked down at Howard as if wondering if he might take just one more poke at the guy who had upset Susan so much... then backed up to where he had been and stood there, swaying gently.

"Go, Howard," Susan said quietly. "Just get out of here."

Howard scrambled to his feet, thankful he hadn't wet himself. He brushed himself off, and went outside.

"Are you okay, darling?" Andrea went to him and put her arms around him. She could feel him shaking. He hugged her, and turned to Warburton.

"Will do."

Warburton stood there holding the gun, though he knew Matt wasn't going to try anything stupid. He watched Howard and Andrea hurry down the stairs and cast off the line, then scramble aboard the boat. The engine started and the boat began to back up.

Then it vanished. There was nothing on the water but some backwash bubbles that quickly dissipated.

Warburton started running toward where the boat had been. Very near the edge of the pier he slipped on an oily patch and went down, striking his head on one of the pilings. Matt started toward him, and saw him roll over the edge and fall into the water.

"Matt, what's happening?" He turned and saw Susan standing in the door.

"You keep Fuzzy calm. I'll see." He went to the edge and looked. Warburton was floating facedown in the water. Matt cursed and jumped in. It was quite a shock, hitting the cold water.

He was an indifferent swimmer, but he managed to thrash along and turn Warburton over and get his arm around his neck in the vaguely remembered lifesaving position, and he treaded water for a moment, then started for the dock where the boat had been docked until a few seconds ago.

Susan was waiting for him at the dock, and helped him pull Warburton up and lay him out on the wood planks.

"Do you know what to do?" Matt asked.

"Mouth to mouth, I guess." She didn't seem pleased. At that moment Warburton coughed up some water, shook his head, and sat up.

They helped him to his feet, got his arms over their shoulders, and staggered up the stairs with him. Halfway to the trailer, Matt suddenly stopped, dropped Warburton's arm, and ran toward the trailer. He went up the stairs, was gone for only a moment, then he came back down and faced Susan and a very groggy Warburton.

"That son of a bitch stole my watch," he said.

THEY didn't have any clothes to fit big, bulky Warburton, so he sat across from them in the breakfast nook, soaking wet and shivering and wrapped in a blanket as he sipped from a cup of instant coffee Susan had heated in the microwave. While Susan was out, Fuzzy had entered the living area, curious now rather than angry, and had done a little damage.

"Do you have a first name?" Susan asked. "I never use it. Did you loosen the harness on that animal?"

"Satisfied?"

"Sorry. I had to ask."

"I would never have endangered Fuzzy that way."

"Point taken."

They were quiet for a while, each of them digesting what they had just seen, none of them quite sure what to think of it yet. Finally Matt spoke.

"Howard never told me about the frozen woman between the man and the mammoth," he said. "Looks like you had your little secret, too. Howard never heard about the watch the man was wearing, did he?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Warburton said angrily. "I didn't send a message in the clear, that would have been foolish. I just radioed Howard and told him to get up there where they were digging up his mammoth, there was something he needed to see. Howard knows I wouldn't waste his time. Between the time I made the call and the time I got back to the mammoth, that bastard Charlie had swiped the watch and was over the horizon on his snowmobile. I went up in the chopper and looked for him, and I don't know how he managed to hide in that wasteland, but he did. Some of the other Indians, Eskimos, whatever the hell they were, they said Charlie was a weird one, believed in magic, he must have thought the watch had powerful juju.

"Howard was on his way. Rostov had showed me the box by then. I knew Howard would be so happy about finding that... what the hell did it matter if the guy was wearing a watch? It was obvious he had traveled in time and I figured the box was the way he had done it. There were only me and five other people, counting Charlie, who knew about the watch. I figured the box was the important thing, but it cost me, plenty, to be sure those other five were quiet about it. One of them's dead now." He looked up, saw the expressions on their faces. "Not me. Rostov worked in a refrigerator, he caught pneumonia, he died. End of story. I'm not a hit man."

Susan grasped Matt's hand and squeezed.

"Don't feel responsible for this, Matt," she said. "We were talking about fate all night. I think you pick your fate. Howard did this to himself."

"What about Andrea?"

"That I don't know. But she's with him, I'm sure of that, wherever they are. And a few hours ago I had to consider whether I'd be happier in the Stone Age with you, or here without you. And I know how I decided."

Matt squeezed her hand. "It just seems so harsh. Howard is the last man I'd expect to survive hardships like that. And what took him up to the Arctic Circle?"

Nobody had a comment to make about that. Susan looked at Warburton and sighed. "Okay, when do we start back?"

Warburton shook his head.

"You think I care about that? My boss is gone, and I'm retiring. You saved my life, and I pay my debts. I'll call the search off, I'll tell them I'm on my way back to Oregon with the animal, and that's the end of it as far as I'm concerned."

He got up and walked out into the night.

THE rain let up before sunrise, and the ferry pulled into its slip shortly after that. Half a dozen other vehicles had parked before the gate went up and they all drove aboard. It was the same size as the first ferry they had been on.

The crossing to Friday Harbor was smooth, the day overcast. Quite a few more cars got on, and then they were off to Point Roberts. Susan stayed in the trailer with Fuzzy, who was feeling as close to grumpy as he ever got. Matt stood at the bow of the ship and watched some dolphins rolling in front of them, thinking about many things, rearranging his life. It looked like there was another jail cell in the offing, though Susan thought they wouldn't be in custody for long. He could tolerate it if they turned the lights out at night. He didn't think any Canadian jailers would be punching him in the nose.

Howard, why did you do it? There at the end, when he was dying, Howard could have done something, some small thing, to twist events around so that he never would have gone back into the past to live what must have been a very, very hard life. Why didn't he? Before that, he could have refused to go north.

Had a good life. That was the only explanation Matt was likely to get.

The ferry docked and Susan joined him in the cab for the short drive to the crossing, having given Fuzzy another tranquilizer and laid him down in the back. The next few days were going to be stressful.

They crossed the international boundary and pulled up at the Canadian Customs shack. Standing beside the road a little way ahead of them in the area where Customs could pull you over for a thorough search, they could see Jack Elk, the man who called himself Python, and two men with briefcases.

Matt rolled down his window and looked at the smiling officer. "Anything to declare?" he said.