“They got a meal, and the lion stole it,” Galloway said at his side. “Pretty typical behavior.”
One of the wolves took a chance and tried to sneak forward. The lion roared, and stood, imposing its sheer bulk on the smaller wolves. It impressed the pack enough to back off. But something else wasn’t quailed. A rock curved from somewhere to the left, and landed right next to the lion. A second came in, flatter and faster, and smacked the huge beast in the side. It fled with a wail of pain, scattering the wolves that likewise took flight as the two Alma walked forward to the deer carcass and bent to feed.
Now that he saw them together, Banks saw that one was smaller, by about a foot, than the other, and lighter in color, more reddish brown.
“One of each,” Galloway said. “The mad bastard was hoping to mate them.”
Banks didn’t have to ask which mad bastard was being referred to. He watched as the beasts tore meat off the deer carcass and fed it into mouths that looked too full of teeth. At that moment, they looked less human, more ape, but that impression changed in an instant as the lion, crouched down low, crept forward, looking to retake the carcass. The bigger of the Alma moved in one smooth action, like a fielder retrieving a ball, bending, picking up a rock, and throwing it, hard and fast underarm. The rock flew flat and true and hit the lion on the right shoulder.
The big cat fled without a sound—but not quickly, and with a noticeable limp.
The Alma watched it go until they were sure all fight had gone from the lion, then resumed their feeding.
Over to Banks’ right, the mammoths stood, still in their defensive circle, still watchful. Way over to the left, under the distant cliffs, he could just make out a dozen darker, barrel-shaped beasts where the wooly rhino had taken themselves away from conflict. There was no sign of any other elk than the dead one the Alma stood over.
A movement caught his eye and he looked up. The six huge thunderbirds circled in a thermal, hundreds of yards above the tundra, spiraling around what they hoped would be easy pickings once the Alma were done with their feast.
“The gang’s all here. Red in tooth and claw,” he muttered.
“And beak and talon,” Galloway added, following Banks’ gaze. “The mad Russian got his spectacle after all, although he didn’t live to see it.”
“I can take the big one, right now,” McCally said. He had his weapon raised, sighting on where the beasts fed.
“Leave it,” Banks replied. “It’s too far, and if you just wounded it, you’d only make it angry. Let them feed. It might slow them down.”
He patted McCally on the arm.
“And talking of feeding, it’s time we had something. I’ll spell you here—go and rustle up what you can from the kitchen. We forgot about it in the excitement earlier. There must still be bread, cheese, and meat around here somewhere. Just no caviar—and definitely no vodka.”
Galloway and Waterston stayed at Banks’ side, all three of them watching the Alma feed out on the tundra.
“You know, it could have been magnificent,” Waterston said. “If only he’d kept his ego in check.”
“Aye. It seems that his ego, dodgy use of materials, overuse of hormones, cloning big hairy orange fuckers and pish-poor security were all that stopped it from being a great success,” Banks said laconically. “That, and getting himself eaten, of course.”
Galloway almost spit out a mouthful of coffee in an attempt not to laugh.
“I do believe I’ll quote you on that in my report.”
“Go right ahead,” Banks replied. “It’s only what I’ll be telling my colonel anyway.”
“Our transport?” Waterston asked. “Will it be big enough for us to take Smithson with us?”
“We don’t leave a man behind if we can help it,” Banks said. “Your man is our man. We’ll get him home.”
Being reminded of the fact made him realize it was time to be thinking about logistics. Their kit was still out in the fuselage of the Lear Jet, and they had a dead man to get down onto the tarmac. At the same time, they’d have to protect themselves from attack, whether it was from thrown rocks or a pack of wolves. He was still milling over that when McCally returned with a tray of bread and cold meats. He let the others eat while he kept watch at the window. At first, he was preoccupied with the logistics of getting everyone down onto the tarmac in safety, so it took him several seconds to notice there was something missing from the scene below.
The Alma still sat on their haunches around the carcass of the deer, the mammoths still stood in their circle, and the rhino were still gathered far off across the plain below the gray cliffs. The lion sulked near a dark pool a hundred yards to the west, licking its wounds; the wolves were nowhere to be seen.
- 14 -
“Sarge,” he shouted. “You all clear out there? I’ve not got eyes on the wolf pack.”
“All clear, Cap,” Hynd called back. “I can walk through the dining area to the big window and have a shufti if you’d like?”
“Do that. Have Wiggo watch your back, and no heroics. I’ll make sure the big orange fuckers don’t fling any rocks at you.”
“Appreciated,” Hynd shouted back, then all went quiet.
Banks did as he’d promised and kept a close eye on the Alma, but they were intent on their feasting. The lion was on the move again, but heading away rather than toward the complex; and not far enough for the mammoths to relax their vigilant circle.
McCally came over with a plate of bread and meat. Banks smelled the strongly cured meat before he turned.
And if I can smell it, then so can the pack.
“Sarge? Any joy out there?” he shouted.
“No sight of the big dogs if that’s what you mean?” Hynd shouted back.
“Okay. Get back into the corridor. If my hunch is right, we’re going to have visitors any minute now.”
McCally raised an eyebrow as Banks made up a basic sandwich. Banks chewed on the dry bread, and swallowed it down before speaking.
“The one thing I know about dogs—any dogs—is that they can smell food from a mile off. They’ll think there’s an easier meal to be had here rather than trying to steal the deer back from the bigger beasties out in the open. They’ll be here somewhere, sniffing around. I’d bet my pension on it.”
“The whole fiver?” McCally said with a smile. “I’d better pay attention then.”
“Watch the window,” Banks said to the corporal. “I’ll be out in the corridor with the sarge and Wiggo. Shout if the hairy orange buggers make a move, or if you see the wolf pack. But if the shooting starts, come and join in—we’re going to need plenty of firepower to take down all four if they come at once.”
He was still chewing on stale bread and too-dry meat as he went out into the corridor. Hynd and Wiggins stood immediately outside the room door watching the access points. Hynd faced the open area out to the dining room, while Wiggins watched the door at the opposite end of the corridor.
“Where does that go?” Banks asked.
“Back stairs, down to a big freezer and larder area for the kitchen,” Wiggins replied. “And unless the fuckers can work door handles, there’s nowt coming up that way.”
“I wouldn’t put it past the big hairy buggers though, so keep your eyes peeled.”
He turned to Hynd. The sarge looked out over the empty dining room to the window beyond, where once again thin fog drifted across the view.
“Maybe we should fetch all the kit from the plane?” he said, but Banks shook his head.
“I don’t want to be out in the open any longer than we have to. We’ll pick it up on the way when backup gets here.”