Black Mountain ah-4

by Greig Beck

  Matt nodded. ‘I believe in them too, Thomas. Tell me more about the magic symbols — and how we can help.’

  Charles pulled a disbelieving face. ‘Hang on, Matt — spells? He doesn’t even believe in them himself. We aren’t going to convince Chief Logan of anything if we start down the mystical path. We need scientific proof now, not magic fires, symbols and dreams. A freakin’ elephant gun would be of more use to us than all that.’

  Thomas looked at Charles and shook his head slowly. ‘You think you see, but you are blind. You think you know all, but you are like a child. Mr Schroder, how do you stop a force of nature? Can you trap the wind; stop the winter blizzard or the summer heat? You are nothing but dust before such things.’ He pinned Charles with his unblinking stare. ‘I said that I had trouble believing, not that it was all make-believe. Sometimes it takes something from ancient times to restore our faith — and not always in a good way.’

  Thomas turned to Matt. ‘The answers are written on the ah-u-tsi stones.’ He looked back at Charles. ‘That means “prison stones”, asshole.’

  Charles stared at Thomas Red Cloud, his eyes wide. ‘Oookay.’ He looked at Sarah and shrugged. ‘Well, I’m more than satisfied.’

  Matt reached across the table and grabbed his friend’s wrist. ‘Charles, just hang on a minute and listen. These guys managed to trap it once before, using little more than arrows, spears… and spells. I think we should at least hear how they did it.’

  ‘C’mon, Matt, you said yourself that was probably over 10,000 years ago. Just give me a hundred milligrams of azaperone, or, better yet, detomidine in a hypodermic dart, and I’ll put the big guy to sleep for hours.’

  Thomas grunted. ‘Science does not have all the answers, Mr Schroder, and this is no game park rhino you seek. The legend tells that the Great Ones were not merely beasts, they were smart. It would be best if we used our intelligence too and employed everything we have at our disposal.’

  Charles groaned, held his head in both hands and shook it slowly.

  Thomas looked back at Matt. ‘The legend says that Tooantuh’s spirit watches over us still and guards us from the Great Ones; and, more importantly, that he will return if he is needed. We must be ready to help him if he comes once again to battle the Great One.’ He gripped Matt’s hand harder. ‘I need to get up there to the wall, to see if I can still repair it.’

  ‘Sarah?’ Charles asked with grimace. Matt knew he was hoping she’d come down on his side and stop Matt being sidetracked by the old Indian.

  Sarah tightened her lips and tilted her head slightly. ‘It all fits — the stone barrier, the Paleo-Indians sealing the creatures away, their reappearance after an earth tremor. Remember the results of the DNA analysis? The red hair, fair skin, near non-existent levels of eumelanin — they all indicate a creature that would be intolerant of sunlight.’ She knitted her brows, then pointed at Matt’s chest. ‘When did the attacks occur — what time of day?’

  Matt thought hard for a moment. ‘The Jordan woman’s believed to have been attacked in the late afternoon, on an overcast day; the Wilson girl disappeared at dusk; Kathleen Hunter was taken at night… That’s it! It’s a night hunter, which makes sense if its normal habitat is a cave or underground.’

  Charles exhaled loudly, but this time he was nodding. ‘You know, my great-uncle Charles disappeared while investigating deep limestone caves in southern China. I don’t know… maybe…’

  Matt clicked his fingers. ‘That’s how it came to turn up all of a sudden. The stone wall must have been repaired and kept secure by Thomas’s ancestors, stretching back to when the first humans came to this area in about 8000 BCE. The recent earth tremor destroyed some of the wall, which opened up the cave and let the Gigantopithecus back into our environment,’ Matt said. ‘This is astonishing.’

  Thomas’s face was a mask. ‘I can show you where the cave opening is. We should leave first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Done,’ Matt said.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute.’ Charles looked from Matt to Sarah, clearly sceptical about the idea of inviting someone who looked to be at least a hundred years old on an arduous mountain trek.

  ‘I vote we bring Thomas with us,’ Matt said. ‘Anyone prepared to second me?’

  Sarah raised her hand. ‘Aye.’

  Charles sat back, a look of resignation on his face. ‘Okay, but on one condition…’

  Matt raised his eyebrows.

  ‘For scientific purposes, we don’t immediately seal the cave opening until we have a significant sample that proves the creature’s existence. You know very well, Matt, that this could be the most important scientific find of the century.’ Charles folded his arms in a this-is-not-negotiable gesture.

  Matt looked at Sarah, who nodded. He turned back to Thomas, whose face was unreadable. ‘I’m afraid I agree with him, Thomas. We will help you, in return for you being our guide. But we must obtain proof of the creature’s existence first. Deal?’

  Thomas stared at Matt for nearly a minute before his leathery face broke into a wide but humourless grin, showing teeth that were far too strong and white to be his own. ‘I agree to allow you to come with me, and I’m sure you will all find what you seek there. I will be ready in the morning.’ He patted Matt’s forearm as though he were an elderly relative catching up with a favourite nephew.

  Matt cleared his throat. ‘Ahh, Thomas, one more thing… how will you know when the Tooantuh arrives, or if he arrives?’

  Thomas, still holding Matt’s arm, stared deep into his eyes. ‘Can’t you feel it, Mr Kearns? He is already on his way.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Hammerson watched the SUV burn up Highway 20 towards Atlanta, doing 120 miles per hour. The screen faded to a snowy white as the satellite went over the horizon, and he sat back, running one hand across his cropped hair.

  ‘So somehow he’s heard about whatever’s happened to Kathleen Hunter,’ Sam Reid said. ‘Or perhaps he sensed it — Arcadian was able to do some pretty weird things.’

  ‘When he had his demons under control,’ Hammerson added.

  Sam nodded. ‘He’s heading for Asheville.’ He wheeled himself around the desk. ‘Head, heart and hands — I’ve still got ’em all, boss. Let me go — he’ll trust me. I just need to get close to him.’

  Hammerson shook his head. ‘Sorry, Sam, not this time. I’m going to need you looking over my shoulder.’

  He headed for the door but Sam cut in front of him. ‘Boss, I can do this.’

  Jack Hammerson leaned forward to grip the armrests of Sam’s chair and look into his broad and battle-scarred face. ‘I know you can, soldier — but not this time. If things go bad for me, I’ve already recommended you take over the HAWC command. Your field skills, strategic thinking and HAWC experience are assets we need — and they’re exactly what I’ll need in my ear when I’m standing in front of the Arcadian trying to bring him in.’

  Sam exhaled and started to look away, then quickly turned back to his colonel. ‘What about Senesh? If she sees you first, you’ll end up in a shit storm.’

  Hammerson paused and thought for a second. He nodded. ‘You’re right. Get me Casey Franks. Tell her she’s got thirty minutes to meet me on the chopper pad. Fight fire with fire — one bad-ass woman against another.’ He smiled grimly as he went out the door. ‘Who said this job can’t be fun?’

  * * *

  On his way to the chopper pad, Hammerson took a call from the field. Only two bodies had been pulled from the Rio Grande and there was a problem — they weren’t Laredo PD. In fact, they showed no DNA, facial, dental or fingerprint matches to anyone in North America. A sense of foreboding grew inside Hammerson as he listened.

  ‘What else?’ he asked.

  ‘Analysis of the corpses showed numerous old scars from gunshot and stabbing trauma. In addition, both guys were built like tanks. My bet — Special Forces, just not ours.’

  Hammerson groaned. ‘Global search?’

  ‘Yes, got somet
hing, but not a formal ID. A hit from a Tel Aviv dental laboratory for a crown in a second rear molar.’

  ‘Shit!’

  Hammerson crushed the phone hard to his ear and thought through the implications. Tel Aviv could only mean one thing — Mossad. They wanted Alex or Senesh back, and they were prepared to take control of them on US soil. Or at least fucking try. No wonder they gave Arcadian some trouble, he thought.

  Hammerson ground his teeth. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing else, sir. Orders?’

  ‘Burn them.’ He hung up and immediately called Sam. ‘Lieutenant, we got a complication. Mossad are here and tracking Hunter and Senesh. Monitor the Tel Aviv communications traffic, and keep the bird watching for anyone following that SUV.’

  ‘On it. Good luck, boss.’

  Reckon I’ll need it now, Hammerson thought, as he signed off.

  * * *

  The helicopter came in low and hovered over a clearing in the Pisgah National Forest, about five miles north-east of Asheville. The machine was small, painted in a black non-reflective coating and surprisingly silent, making more of a whooshing sound than the usual rotational whine. When it was within six feet of the ground, a door slid back and two figures jumped lightly from its rear. They jogged away to allow it to lift off, and watched it disappear quietly over the treetops.

  Second Lieutenant Casey Franks jogged a few paces into the dense forest circling them, examined the ground for a moment, then removed a small shovel from her pack and started digging. After ten minutes she had excavated a hole roughly three feet deep and the same wide. She and Hammerson dropped their packs and locator beacon into it, and then she covered it over. Once she’d scattered leaves, twigs and other debris over the area, all signs of the surface disturbance had been erased.

  Dressed in lumber jackets, jeans and boots, with hunting knives on their belts, she and Hammerson looked like any other weekend campers. The only light arms they allowed themselves were a single Heckler & Koch USP .45 CT pistol each, strapped in a holster at their back.

  Jack Hammerson was checking the tracker when Franks joined him, his face illuminated by its screen’s soft glow. He motioned towards the west with one flat hand. ‘Kathleen Hunter’s place is a few miles out of town, at the foot of the mountains. But satellite surveillance confirms the Arcadian is still en route for the town centre. So that’s where we’ll go to wait for him… them.’

  ‘And if Captain Senesh interferes — what’s the engagement level authorisation?’

  Hammerson slid the tracker back into his pocket. ‘Authorisation to make life fucking difficult for her… only. Bottom line is, until we know more about the characteristics of her relationship with the Arcadian, we can’t afford to do anything that may force him into taking sides. Especially as we’re not certain yet which side he’s gonna take.’

  Franks nodded slowly, but Hammerson knew she’d heard of Adira Senesh and could tell she was excited about the prospect of going head to head with her. Franks was good, probably the best female operative they now had in the HAWCs, but Hammerson knew that might not be enough against an Israel’s top Metsada operative. Unfortunately, Senesh had also been trained in HAWC attack and defensive techniques — he’d overseen the training himself. There was probably only one HAWC Hammerson would have confidently bet against the Senesh woman — and unfortunately that HAWC was now running with her.

  ‘Double time,’ he ordered, and they began a jog towards the town centre, five miles away. Hammerson wanted to be there and ready when the Arcadian arrived.

  * * *

  Several hundred miles to the north, a dark, nondescript Infiniti G35 with slightly tinted windows sped down Highway 81 in Virginia. It had just entered the outskirts of Marion but it wouldn’t stop there… nor at Abingdon, Bristol or even Johnston City.

  The driver could have been part of the machinery of the vehicle. Like his two passengers, he sat mute. All three wore their hats pulled down low, and wraparound sunglasses of the kind favoured by seniors, which covered most of the nose and forehead as well as the eyes. The lenses were almost as dark as welding goggles.

  The accessories weren’t so much for concealment as for protection against direct sunlight. To Captain Graham’s frustration, the subjects’ superheated metabolisms were weakened by UV radiation. Yet another puzzling flaw to be solved, and even more reason to find the original Arcadian.

  One of the men in the backseat lifted his hand to scratch a sore that had opened up on his cheek. The movement of his finger lifted more skin away from his face, but he ignored the fluid that ran down from the open wound. The men had one order, one objective, and they wouldn’t stop, sleep or eat until they reached Asheville… until they found the Arcadian.

  * * *

  Hammerson slowed them to a trot as they reached the outskirts of Asheville, and they entered the town centre at a brisk walk. It was late, cold and a weeknight, so the streets were empty. They needed a quiet place to wait. Hammerson knew they stood out, even though they’d dressed like regular hikers or hunters. They were too big, too wide and too battle-scarred to blend in with civilians.

  ‘This’ll do,’ Hammerson said, nodding towards the sign for Old Ron’s Bar and Grill.

  They pushed the door open and Hammerson inhaled the atmosphere: stale beer, body odour, old grease and bleach — the latter probably used to clean blood from the floor, given the look of some of the patrons lounging at the bar and playing pool further back in the gloom.

  A weary-looking woman behind the bar, with a low-cut top that showed her pendulous breasts, raised her eyebrows at Hammerson. Two men who’d obviously been trying their luck with her turned to see what had caught her eye. Hammerson nodded to the woman, then headed to a booth, keeping his cap on to hide his iron-grey buzz cut. Franks slid in next to him.

  Hammerson waited a while, until the locals had tired of staring at the newcomers, then pulled the tracker from his pocket and used his finger to scroll down the screen to the information feed he wanted.

  ‘He’s about fifty miles out, still headed into town. Should be here within the hour.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Franks asked, leaning forward, her angular powerful body made even more solid by the padded lumber jacket.

  Hammerson pushed the box back into his pocket. ‘Hunter’s got to be leading them here. Too much of a coincidence, this being his mother’s home town and her just disappearing… or dead. But how would he know about it?’

  He frowned, pulled the box from his pocket again and searched for the Asheville coroner’s report on Kathleen Hunter’s disappearance. Nothing. He tapped the box on the table top for a second or two. ‘Coroner’s office hasn’t released the information about his mother’s death, which smells like an ongoing police investigation.’ He tapped some more. ‘What if Kathleen Hunter was murdered?’ He stopped tapping. ‘There’d be a shitload of retribution about to ride into town.’

  Franks laughed softly. ‘Escorted by a Mossad clean-up crew. Oh yeah, this is getting real interesting.’ She slid out of the booth. ‘Drink?’

  Hammerson replied without looking at her. ‘Coffee.’

  ‘Got it.’

  Franks took off her heavy jacket, threw it on the seat and headed to the bar.

  * * *

  ‘Two coffees and a Bud,’ Franks told the woman behind the bar, pulling off one of her gloves and sliding her sleeves up on her brawny forearms. She could feel the two men nearby staring at her white buzz-cut, ice blue eyes and snub nose. In her teens, Casey Franks had been called attractive once or twice, but the compliments stopped after she got in a fight and picked up a deep facial wound that was never properly repaired. There was no spare cash in her Midwest family for cosmetic surgery. The cleft scar ran from just below her left eye down to her chin and pulled her left cheek up slightly, giving her a permanent sneer. She had multiple tattoos on her forearms — daggers, dragons, names of high-power motorbikes, and one solitary feminine adornment: a rose with the name Linda in de
licate, curling calligraphy underneath it.

  The man closest to her, wearing a greasy-looking cap, nudged his companion and motioned with his head at the rose tattoo. He leaned in close to Franks. ‘Hey, this ain’t a gay bar… mister.’

  He sniggered, and his companion guffawed and leaned around him to have his own say. ‘Maybe the young fella’s had one of them sex change thingies.’

  They both laughed again at their own wit.

  The weary barmaid set down the coffees and beer. ‘Ignore them, sweetheart, they’re drunk. They’ll be shown the door soon enough if they don’t start behaving.’ She scowled at them before walking away.

  Franks removed her other glove, exposing raised and callused knuckles. She made no move to take the drinks, instead sending a quick glance to the booth to see if Hammerson was watching. He wasn’t, so she smiled and leaned on the bar, turning slightly towards the men towering over her stocky form.

  ‘You know what? Damn shame this ain’t a gay bar ’cause I was feelin’ a real attraction for both of you ladies.’

  Greasy Cap snorted. ‘Oh, we’re men all right, Butch, but you might not recognise us. Tell me, sweetheart, you ever been with a man before?’

  ‘I bet not as many times as you have.’ She thrust her chin out and looked him up and down. ‘Hey, I reckon you’re about six feet two — I’m impressed. I didn’t know they could stack shit that high.’ She leaned around him to his friend. ‘And you there — where I come from, you need a licence to be as dumb as you are.’

  She leaned back, put both elbows on the bar and waited.

  Greasy Cap had stopped smiling. ‘You should run back to your grandpa now, before you get hurt, you weird little fucker.’