"A Bozeman newspaper?" he asked with a quizzical expression as he glanced at the first header.
"Would you believe that one of the victims who was killed in the explosion just happened to live in Bozeman, Montana?" Abercombie asked as the executive director of ICER started to scan through the small type.
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Wolfe winced. "Didn't anybody know that?"
"No." Abercombie shook her head. "Other than our mad bomber, who was also the primary coordinator for the meeting, we had no idea of who the other representatives might be. It was simply an unexpected opportunity, and we took advantage of it."
Wolfe sat for a moment in contemplative silence.
"These are just local papers," he said finally. "They run an article one day and by the next day, it's forgotten."
"Yes, that probably would have been the case if the local NBC affiliate hadn't stopped by the victim's home to interview his parents," Abercombie nodded. "Do you know what those people gave him?"
"No, what?" Wolfe asked uneasily.
"A homemade video tape showing what a wonderful person their son was because he had always spent his summers working as an outdoor naturalist at-you'll never guess-Yellowstone National Park. Naturally, Brokaw picked it up immediately for his Nightly News show."
"Christ Almighty!" Wolfe whispered.
"Do you know what that means?" Lisa Abercombie asked in a quiet, chilling voice. "It's a link. Something that we can't afford right now."
"But I don't see how anyone could make the connection between a Bozeman naturalist who died in an accident on Long Island and three illegal hunting guides at Yellowstone, one of whom happened to be arrested in Bozeman," Wolfe said. "The two incidents seem completely unrelated."
"The only problem is that they are not separate and they are not unrelated," Abercombie reminded. "Dr. Morito Asai was involved in both. So were you and I, to a lesser degree. And keep in mind," she added, "that if we start talking investigations, we're talking the
FBI."
"But no one can link us to Asai or Bozeman-" Wolfe started to protest.
"Except for Alex and Butch Chareaux, and the covert agents who were investigating them," Abercombie responded quietly.
"How could the FBI possibly make that connection?"
"Perhaps because we directed them to investigate the activities of a certain Fish and Wildlife Service Special Operations team. A team that was coincidentally dismantled after investigating the Chareaux brothers, who were arrested in the Yellowstone National Park area." Abercombie's voice was tinged with sarcasm.
Wolfe shook his head slowly. "I think you're reaching," he said, trying to remain calm. But he was tapping his fingers nervously on his leg and he could feel his heart starting to pound.
"The committee and I would like nothing better than to believe that," Abercombie said.
"But we bought them all off," Wolfe protested. "It's all history. The Chareauxs are going to be relocated to South Africa, and all the agents got their dream duty stations. Why would they even care about this case any longer?"
"Because they lost, and people like that don't like to lose."
"But they lost against each other," Wolfe said, desperate to find some handle on the situation because he was starting to sense where all of this was heading. "I mean, at the very worst, why would they be interested in us?"
"Precisely," Lisa Abercombie nodded as she reached into her desk drawer, brought out three more file folders and tossed them on top of the six that Wolfe had brought with him from Washington, D.C. "Which is why we are going to make certain that they are completely focused on each other before we take another step with Operation Counter Wrench."
Then, as Wolfe stared at the pile of manila folders with growing dread, Abercombie reached over and pressed a button on her intercom.
"Tracy," she said in a cold voice, "would you please have Mr. Maas report to my office, immediately."
HUNTED…
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sunday September 12th
The Kenai Peninsula, a huge expanse of wilderness extending out from the south-central edge of Alaska, is a land of extremes. High mountain ranges, huge pondering glaciers, hundreds of lakes, and an unimaginable diversity of plants and animals make the Kenai a place where legends are born. It is a place where sun-drenched summers and crisp autumn winds can suddenly give way to a winter storm of incredible proportions; where ice and soil fight an age-old battle measured in inches, while the land itself is described in millions of acres.
But more important, it is a place where predator and prey meet, where the strong and aggressive triumph, and the weak perish.
It has always been that way, even on the two-million-acre Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, a huge area of wilderness set aside as a sanctuary from man-the most prolific and dangerous predator the earth has ever known.
It was approaching mid-September, still early in terms of the winter calendar, but the mother Kodiak bear could sense the changes in the valley formed by the joining of Benjamin Creek and the Killey River. Changes that would spell certain doom for her two late-born cubs if she didn't act soon.
She hadn't always lived here in this secure and hidden wilderness. There were vague memories. The thunderous crash of the rifle. Her mother's sudden death. The hunger that had grown worse and worse until she was found by a park ranger, who had stuffed her into his jacket and taken her back to his plane. Ultimately she had been introduced to a new life on the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, where she had never again encountered a human being.
She was the only true Kodiak living among hundreds of "lesser" brown bears, but it did not matter. She had found a mate, a huge brown male nearly equal to her in size and ferocity; and their union-a rare and unlikely event-had produced a pair of late-born cubs that were now, according to her deep-seated instincts, the primary reason for her existence.
The other things that she understood were equally instinctive: her cubs were still small compared to the others, the weather was turning cold, the salmon run was almost finished, and the competition for the remaining fish was becoming increasingly fierce.
That, and the knowledge that a hungry brown bear- especially the males, and even her mate-would eat anything available during those last desperate days before hibernation.
Standing just over nine feet in height and weighing nearly seventeen hundred pounds, the mother Kodiak knew that she could take on and defeat any one of the males face-to-face. But she also sensed that a battle might leave her cubs undefended for a few precious moments, and she could not accept that kind of risk. She would have to move her cubs away from the Killey River spawning beds.
Thus, intent on finding the food, shelter, and isolation they would need in the coming months, she led them north along Benjamin Creek, slowly working toward the rocky southern shore of Skilak Lake, where her fate, and the fate of Operation Counter Wrench, would be irrevocably entwined.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Monday September 13th
Henry Lightstone and Marie Pascalaura ended up with almost an hour and a half to kill before their long-awaited flight to Anchorage. They had been sitting quietly next to each other in the main concourse of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, holding hands and lost in their own daydreams, when Lightstone suddenly felt a momentary wave of fear that seemed terrifying familiar.
Jarred by the sensation, but too self-controlled to give in to panic, he remained absolutely still in his seat.
"Henry, are you all right?" Marie asked in a calm and quiet voice. She had been startled by the sudden tension in Henry's arm. Her hand slid gently over to his wrist, casually feeling for his pulse. He started to tell her that he was fine, that there was nothing to worry about.