by Ken Goddard
“Well, in that case,” Achara said, making an unsuccessful attempt to mask another yawn, “I’m going to go to bed, and I’m taking our little ones with me.” She got up from the couch, bent down, and picked up the cardboard file box. She started toward the bedroom on the left, paused, looked back at Bulatt — who was in the process of stretching his legs out on the couch — lifted one end of the box top slightly, reached in, pulled something out, and then walked back to the couch. “But I wouldn’t want you to get lonely out here, all by yourself,” she added with a dimpled emphasis as she dropped a little furry bundle on Bulatt’s chest.
Bulatt and the twins all watched Achara walk into the bedroom and close the door.
“Wow,” the boy at the computer keyboard said, “she is definitely hot.”
“Classic warrior-princess babe,” the other brother agreed.
“Hey, and if you’re not interested in her,” the first boy said, glancing over at Bulatt, “we’ll be happy to — ”
Bulatt reached down to his chest, picked up the furry bundle, and placed it on his knee. Instantly, the little furry body rose up on all eight legs and scampered back up to Bulatt’s chest.
“Holy shit!” both boys screamed in unison.
“What’s the matter, I thought you guys liked to play with little spiders?” Bulatt inquired, watching with amusement as the furry creature stared at him with glistening eyes and then settled back down in the center of his chest.
“That’s not a little spider,” the first boy whispered.
“That’s not even… little,” the second rasped.
Both boys looked as if they were about ready to faint.
“No, I suppose not,” Bulatt agreed. “He’s actually a red-kneed tarantula. One of our special ops teams seized about seven hundred and fifty of these guys last year. Hell of a bust.”
“You have… seven hundred and fifty of those… things?” The boy could barely get the words out.
“More or less,” Bulatt said. “I’ve got the one here, Achara’s got fourteen more in the box, and — at the moment — we’re storing the rest out at the Windmill Inn.”
“How can you let it just… sit there?” the boy at the keyboard said, looking like he was about ready to cry.
“Just a personal preference, I suppose.” Bulatt shrugged. “Some people are terrified of tarantulas. Other people — like Achara, for example — let them wander around their bedrooms at night.”
“You mean she — ?”
“All night — ?”
“Walking around on top of her bed?”
“On top of… her?”
“Sure, why not. They won’t bother her,” Bulatt said as he picked up the tarantula again, this time dropping it gently onto the floor. “Mostly, they like to wander around on the floor looking for food.
Suddenly alert, the tarantula squatted up and down a couple of times — like he was warming up with some eight-legged knee bends — and then scampered over to the floor where one of the boys had dropped a piece of pizza.
“Don’t worry, he’s just looking — ” Bulatt started to say when both boys screamed in unison; quickly unplugged the laptop from the wall; grabbed up the laptop, the printer and the bucket of sodas; and then disappeared into the far right bedroom with a solid slam of the door.
“- for crickets and other things that like to hang around scraps of pizza,” Bulatt finished as he got up, shut off the lights, settled back into the couch, and closed his eyes with a contented sigh.
At four-thirty-two in the morning, a light tapping on the hotel room door caused Bulatt’s eyes to snap open. After a quick look through the peep-hole, he pulled the couch aside and opened the door.
“George Reston,” the tough and very tired looking man said, holding out an opened federal agent credentials case. “I believe you were the designated kid-sitter this evening?”
“Ged Bulatt,” Bulatt said as he shook Reston’s hand, motioned him inside, and then quietly shutting the door. “Appreciate the use of your boys; they turned out to be extremely helpful, once I got them away from their mom.”
“You mean you actually got some useful work out of these characters?” Reston said as he quietly opened the bedroom door and observed his two sons sprawled out on the twin beds, sound asleep. “How’d you manage that?”
“Classic good-cop bad-cop act,” Bulatt said as he and Reston each picked up one of the boys. “Had a beautiful Thai warrior princess on hand for the good cop, so all I had to do was come up with an effective twist for the bad cop.”
“I heard about your partner,” Reston said. “What did you use for a twist, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Turns out your boys like to play with baby electronic spiders, but turn pale at the sight of a bigger one that’s real.” Bulatt motioned with his head at the red-kneed tarantula squatting on the arm of the couch, apparently watching the scene with some interest.
“Really?” Reston walked over to the couch and stared down at the inquisitive spider. “You think I could arrange to borrow this little guy, every now and then?”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Bulatt said, nodding agreeably.
A half hour later, a buzzing sound emanating from the couch woke Bulatt out of a light sleep. He fumbled around, found the Blackberry, pressed the light button, noted that it was five-fifteen in the morning, and then thumbed the ‘ANSWER’ button.
“Morning, Henry, where are you at?”
“Rear parking lot of the Windmill Inn,” Henry Lightstone answered.
“Have a pleasant flight?”
“Have you ever flown with Woeshack, at night, and during bad weather?”
“Ah, right, my apologies.”
“Tell it to Paxton, Stoner and Takahara. They just spent the last three hours discussing the best way to dispose of your body, in between watching out for radio towers and tall trees. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell us where you’re staying?”
“Tell the guys I’m hiding out from a bunch of government goons in a hotel room with a gorgeous Thai warrior-princess; a pair of very clever fourteen-year-old CIA-trained hackers; and a boxful of red-knees,” Bulatt said. “No need to add to my grief.”
There was some murmured conversation on the other end of the line.
“Larry thinks you’re bullshitting us, as usual; Mike wants to meet the kids; and Dwight says you’re not going to be of much use to the princess when he’s done ripping assorted parts off your body,” Lightstone said, coming back on the line. “Personally, I’m in favor of handcuffing you into the plane with Woeshack.”
“Which is precisely why I arranged for your morning entertainment; something special to take your minds off your troubles,” Bulatt said, and went on to describe the latest modifications to his plan.
“These are more of the hunter/killer guys you’ve already beaten up and shot; the ones that Schweer told us about?” Lightstone inquired.
“Probably the back-up team,” Bulatt corrected. “If they’re anything like the first group, and the fellow on first-watch, look for them to be heavy on the muscles and firearms, but not real alert. Personally, I’d let them all get a good look at the red-knees wandering around loose in the cars before you make contact; they don’t seem to be able to handle distractions very well.”
“And you really need us to deal with these idiots?”
“Actually, the one I’m concerned about is Smith,” Bulatt explained. “He seems to be experienced, and half-way smart; and he’s probably going to be seriously pissed when he finds out the kids cancelled all of his team’s government travel cards, and messed with their cell phone accounts.”
“No shit?”
“Like I said, they’re very clever kids,” Bulatt reminded.
“And this gorgeous Thai warrior-princess; you saying she’s real?”
“You recall that Colonel Prathun Kulawnit has a daughter?”
“I vaguely remember him showing us a photo one evening,” Lightstone acknowledged.
“Well, she’s all grown up now; and, at the moment, safely nestled in bed about twenty feet from my couch with a bunch of red-knees crawling over her very gorgeous body,” Bulatt said. “Would you like for me to make up some lurid details, or would you rather take all of your frustrations in life out on a bunch of government thugs who are trying to keep us from hunting down the assholes that killed her brother and shot her father; most likely because they want to recruit the assholes for their own purposes?”
There was a long pause.
“Okay,” Lightstone said agreeably, “how much time do you need?”
“Twenty-four hours would be nice; forty-eight even nicer. Smith seems to have a wallet-full of get-out-of-jail cards.”
“How about Smith goes down for assaulting a federal agent, with witnesses present, and I get to meet the princess?”
“Who gets assaulted?”
“Me.”
“Think there’ll be any serious bruising involved? I really don’t like these guys hanging around our lab; kinda makes me nervous.”
“Count on it.”
“Sounds like a deal,” Bulatt agreed.
“You’ll still owe the rest of the guys, though,” Lightstone reminded. “We flew the whole way under the clouds, and some of those trees were pretty goddamned tall.”
“How about I let all you guys in on the take-down?”
“What are we talking about?”
“Right now, four extremely wealthy trophy-killers, probably in-your-face arrogant CEO-types with hidden collections who like to travel a lot; three ex-Australian SASR commandos turned hunting guides who, according to Smith, are good for the deaths of an international smuggler named Gregor and his entire crew, not to mention at least five dead Thai Rangers — including the Colonel’s son — and a lot of collateral damage that we know about; and maybe a bunch of Russian immigrants thrown in for good luck.”
“And you were planning on keeping these assholes all for yourself?” Lightstone asked accusingly.
“Just trying to stay flexible until the last minute,” Bulatt corrected. “Also, there’s the minor problem that I don’t know who they really are, or where they’re at, right now… except for Smith, of course.”
“But you do have a lead?”
“On one of the CEO’s,” Bulatt acknowledged. “A guy named Michael Hateley. I should know a lot more about Mr. Hateley and his associates in a few hours, assuming I can keep Smith and his goons away from my kid-hackers.”
“Consider it done. You want to make the wake-up call?”
“Sure.”
“Adios.”
“Later.” Bulatt disconnected the call, slipped the Blackberry back onto his belt, and then reached for the cell phone he’d taken off the watchman and punched in a series of numbers.
After four rings, a sleepy voice answered. “This is Smith, what’s the hell’s happening out — ?”
“Help,” Bulatt said calmly. Then he disconnected the call, turned the cell phone off, set it aside, and snuggled back into the comfortable cushions with a contented sigh.
CHAPTER 33
Conference Room, Fish and Wildlife Forensics Lab
At fifteen minutes after eight in the morning, Gedimin Bulatt and Achara Kulawnit entered the National Fish and Wildlife Forensic Lab’s conference room where they found Renwick, Hager and Reston waiting.
“Have a productive evening?” Renwick asked as he glanced meaningfully at his watch.
“You might say that,” Bulatt said as he placed a satchel he’d been carrying on the table and then sat down at one of the empty chairs; Achara taking the adjacent chair. “Sorry we’re late. Achara and I had to stop by the Windmill Inn this morning to help some fellow agents deal with a few loose spiders.”
“Which you are going to keep, and not bring back here, like you promised?” Hager reminded.
Bulatt nodded. “That was the agreement; but it looks like I’m going have put them back in the bug room, temporarily, until the indictments get filed,” he added apologetically. “After that, we’re going to ship the little guys back to Mexico where they presumably came from. Achara and I will take care of the details.”
“Thank god,” Hager whispered.
“Indictments?” Reston said, her eyebrows rising curiously.
“There was a little altercation in the parking lot earlier this morning,” Bulatt explained. “A couple of our special ops agents managed to get themselves assaulted by some fellows who claimed to be federal law enforcement officers, but who couldn’t explain why they were in possession of illegal wildlife — our little red-legged friends — and some possibly-bogus federal government travel cards. Sounded like a pretty confusing deal; probably have to be worked out at the Washington Office level.”
“But it was very exciting to watch,” Achara added. “Lot’s of police cars and ambulances with flashing lights, tow trucks, the works; just like you see on American TV.”
“’Lots’ of police cars — meaning more than one — in Ashland, that early in the morning?” Hager looked skeptical.
“It helps to plan your altercations ahead of time,” Bulatt explained. “Gives the locals plenty of time to get their coffee, call in extra back-ups, and get a good front-seat view of the proceedings.”
“Ah.”
“And our Mr. Smith?” Renwick asked.
“According to the EMT’s, his prognosis looks fairly good. They said he’ll probably be back on his feet in a few days without any serious complications, if you don’t count the assault complaint our agents will be filing with the local U.S. Attorney,” Bulatt said matter-of-factly. “In any case, I don’t think he’ll be bothering us for a while. The guy who pulled a knife on Stoner is another issue entirely; he won’t be up and moving around quite so soon.”
“What about my children?” Reston asked, looking tired and even more grumpy than usual from working all night. “Please tell me they weren’t involved in this… planned altercation.”
“Your sons spent the entire night in their hotel room, presumably working their little typing and mouse fingers to the bone,” Bulatt said, raising his hand in a ‘Scout’s honor’ gesture. “They were sound asleep when their father picked them up a four-thirty this morning. He seemed like a nice fellow.”
“If you happen to like big, ornery and aggressive federal law enforcement types,” Reston said with a shrug. “George had to fill-in on a stake-out last night. You and Achara saved us the expense of an overnight baby-sitter.”
“You actually leave those boys alone, overnight, with a baby-sitter?” Achara said, blinking in surprise.
“Not very often; their grandmother charges too much,” Reston said, keeping her reddened eyes focused on Bulatt. “You didn’t tell them I had access to your laptop, did you?”
Bulatt shook his head. “I didn’t figure that was something they needed to know.”
“Well, they didn’t believe you; that much was obvious,” Reston said. “But I have a feeling they were too busy showing off for Achara to make a thorough check. They found three of the worm programs I inserted, but missed the other two — one of which they should have found. And they really should have opened up the case and spotted the back-up transmitter. I thought I’d taught them better than that.”
“We might have clogged up their brains a bit with all that pizza and the chocolate chip cookies,” Bulatt suggested.
“More likely their brains are just starting to migrate south, which may or may not be a good thing,” Reston said. “Which reminds me, did you bring that laptop in?”
“Yep, right here.” Bulatt reached into the satchel, pulled out his laptop computer, and handed it to Reston who turned it over, examined the serial numbers on the back; then held it out at arm’s length and allowed it to drop to the floor with a loud crash.
“Oops,” Hager said casually.
Bulatt blinked in surprise. “Aren’t you being a little rough on my equipment?”
“Look who’s talking,” Reston
muttered as she reached down, picked up the laptop, opened it up, turned it on, watched the computer screen flicker to life, frowned, then held it up higher and let it drop to the floor a second time.
Unable to resist, Bulatt looked around the edge of the table and saw that the computer screen was cracked but still glowing brightly.
“Impressive,” he commented. “I didn’t realize they were making computers that tough these days.”
“Neither did I,” Reston said, frowning. “I’ll take a sledge hammer to it later, and then run the parts through a metal shredder.”
Bulatt’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment, but then it came to him.
“They went too far — with my laptop — didn’t they?” he said, smiling hopefully.
“Much too far,” Reston acknowledged.
“Meaning?”
“Credit card and cell phone records; definitely forbidden territory for those two. Not to mention hacking into a local mainframe when they decided your computer was too small and too slow; which is why I don’t want any evidence hanging around for an IG investigator to poke at. I’ve got a replacement laptop for you in my office.”
“Which — if I was fourteen, and knew what I was doing — I’d probably open up and check for worms, transmitters and baby spider eggs right off the bat, correct?”
“You’re starting to catch on,” Reston said approvingly.
“I’ll have Mike check it out, just to be on the safe side,” Bulatt promised.
“So how did they approach it?” Achara asked, unable to contain herself any longer.
“That’s the amazing thing,” Reston said, “every now and then these kids still manage to surprise me. Their general approaches to probes and database links are still pretty unsophisticated; but they have this odd ability to make huge logic leaps at the most illogical moments. It’s probably a generational thing; but I would have started with the registration number for Hateley’s Gulfstream, and worked outwards in linear searches from there.”
“They didn’t?”
“No, they went straight into a seven-dimensional array with jet-fuel accounts and Gulfstream maintenance firm records in the first two positions, cross-linked to credit cards, cell phone calls, hotel bookings, national newspaper articles and CITES permits, and then ran the entire matrix through a Boolean logic deep-search with Hateley as the common factor. In effect, they ran forty-two comprehensive searches simultaneously, all of which were cross-linked. They should have set up a logic tree right away, anchored their roots, and covered their tracks better, but they were probably in a hurry to show their stuff; and I had the transmitter set for one second bursts every half hour, to keep them from picking up on the RAM usage, so I was always playing catch-up. But I was still able to follow their trail, clean up the log files and — ”
