Fatalis (28 page)

"Has he got extra night-vision equipment?"

"The police department and Sheriff Shooter are sending over their hardware," Valentine said. "Shooter is ready to offer his people if we need them."

Gearhart didn't want help from the Ventura County Sheriff's Office. It was bad enough the situation had spread as far as it had in his own county. "Will the teams be ready to move out when Dr. Thorpe gets there?"

"They'll be ready," Valentine said.

"I'm counting on it," Gearhart said. "I want these killers, Mike. I want them out of commission, tonight."

The sheriff switched off the radio and slid it back into the belt loop. He stopped a few feet from the Wall and glared at the photographer. "Where did they go?"

The Wall pointed down the hole.

"Does your boss have her phone?"

The Wall shrugged.

"Call her."

"I can't."

Gearhart advanced on the photographer. "Mister, you
call
her. I want those two back here."

"Sheriff, I physically cannot do that."

"Why?"

"Grand turned the phone off," the Wall said. "A ring at the wrong time-the cats might hear."

Gearhart swore again. "That's the
reason
I keep you people out of places like this."

The Wall said nothing.

Gearhart calmed slightly. "Tell me about the cats. Did you get a good look at them?"

"Not really."

"Is that a
no
?"

"
I
didn't get a good look at the cats, no, sir," the Wall said. "I saw a big
thing
for about a half a second when I jumped up and pulled Hannah behind the rocks. After that all I saw was Hannah's butt."

Gearhart shook his head.
That was a big help
. The guy was supposed to be a goddamn journalist. The sheriff shined his light down the sinkhole. He didn't believe what the pilot said he saw-lions with fangs. And if that
was
what he saw, then this was someone's idea of a sick gag. He didn't believe there was a pair of saber-toothed tigers in the hills.

"Walter, I'm closing off the entire area," Gearhart said. "I asked you to drop the film off at my office. Would you do that now?"

"If I leave the mountain, Sheriff, it may block the phone call when Hannah gets out."

"Then give me the phone," Gearhart said.

The photographer stood there. "You want my film and my cell phone. Anything else?"

"Yes, I want your fucking cooperation! I'm not running a summer camp."

The Wall hesitated, then handed him the phone. "I'll need Hannah's okay on the film," he said.

The sheriff slid the cell phone into the back pocket of his pants.

"You know, Hannah
is
trying to do good," the Wall said.

"Save it-"

"And she's got guts," the photographer added. "It wouldn't hurt you to cooperate a little."

"Cooperation is trust and trust is earned," Gearhart said. "Now please get yourself back down the mountain."

The helicopter had resumed hovering over the campsite. The north side of the peak was once again spotlit and the Wall walked toward it. He climbed the boulders and started down the mountainside.

As soon as the Wall was gone, Gearhart turned and ran the powerful flashlight over the flat field and the woods beyond. He had told Chief Deputy Valentine to organize the deputies and volunteers into teams of three and four, all of them armed. It was clear now that the killers were moving southeast through the mountain caves. Whether they were people or animals or some twisted combination of both, they had to sleep sometime and emerge somewhere else in the range. The plan was for Dr. Thorpe to define an outside perimeter with the beach and this sinkhole as southern and eastern boundaries. Once the map was drawn his teams would take up positions at the base of the foothills and close in. If the squads found cave openings, they would make their way inside. With helicopters spotting from above, there was no way the killers could get away.

Again.

The sheriff walked toward the foggy woods. He was impatient for the operation to begin. If he didn't hear from Hannah and Grand before his teams were in place, Gearhart would warn his personnel that two people might be inside the caves and to watch out for them. But he wouldn't hold up the operation. It wasn't personal; his job was to protect citizens whether he liked them or not. He wouldn't delay this for anyone.

Chief Deputy Valentine called to say that Dr. Thorpe had arrived and the second chopper was ferrying her up. She was accompanied by Shooter and Deputy Skitch Kline of Search-and-Rescue, Mountain Tracking Division. Gearhart turned toward the ocean. He could see the Bell's bright flying light from where he stood. Valentine said that the rest of the teams, over fifty men in all, had arrived and would await Gearhart's instructions before heading into the mountain range.

Gearhart thanked him and signed off.

As he did, the cell phone in his back pocket beeped.

Grand and Hannah took a moment to stare across the gully. On the opposite side was the mouth of a large-diameter pipe made of concrete and approximately six feet in diameter. The bottom of the pipe was about two feet off the ground; the thick steel mesh that was designed to keep children out had been torn back and was hanging from the lower left corner. Water and detritus was flowing from the opening like spillage from a log flume. The runoff was pouring into a narrow, jagged channel that had been eaten from the pipe to the large gully.

This was bad news, Hannah knew.

Two years before, the municipal water districts of Santa Barbara, Ventura, and other counties down to Los Angeles had pooled their resources to create more efficient, interconnected drainage in the coastal ranges, a system that not only prevented flooding and channeled overflow from dams, but helped to fill the reservoirs of those communities. Given the lack of staining inside the pipe, Hannah assumed this pipe was part of that project. If that were true, then the cats had a new route through the mountains. One that had dozens of egresses, many of which would take them right to where the food was: the towns along the drainage route.

"Are we going in?" she asked.

"We have to," Grand said as he hurried down the steep, stony wall of the larger gully. "There are dozens of openings like this. If the cats leave we probably won't find them until they kill again." The gully was only four feet deep and Grand quickly crawled up the other side.

Hannah punched the speed-dialing code, then climbed down the side of the gully. She was connected after two beeps.

"Hello," said the voice on the other end-Hannah reached the top of the gully. "Hello, Wall?" she said.

"No. It's Gearhart."

Hannah scowled. "What happened to the Wall?"

"He's gone. Where are you?"

"I'm not sure," Hannah said. She felt ambushed and violated. "We came to the end of the mountain tunnel and found a pipeline. We think the saber-tooths went in there. We're moving towards it."

"You're sure they're prehistoric cats?"

"We're as sure as we can be without getting up close and personal," Hannah said.

"Are you looking at the pipeline?" Gearhart asked.

"Yes."

"What's the gauge of the pipe?"

"I don't know, exactly," Hannah said. "The opening's about five or six feet across."

"That's one of the new pipes. They're using them in the Gibraltar Dam system expansion," Gearhart said. "Both of you stay where you are. We'll triangulate the call and pick you up."

Hannah looked over at Grand. He had reached the pipe and was examining the base. After a moment he climbed inside.

"Sorry, Sheriff, but we won't be here," she said.

"Listen to me," Gearhart said. "My SWAT teams are moving into that area. You pop out somewhere and they may not be able to distinguish between you and their prey."

"We're the ones on two legs," Hannah said. "I'll leave the phone here. You can follow the signal while we follow the cats."

"You may not get to follow
anything
," Gearhart yelled. "Those pipes have been flushing regularly since the rains started-"

"We'll be okay," Hannah said.

The young woman set the phone on a flat rock beside the drain and climbed into the opening. She wondered if Gearhart had been concerned about their well-being or about the possibility that they might interfere with a kill shot.

The pipe was large enough for Hannah to stand. She splashed over to Grand, who was on his hands and knees about a yard in. He was using the back of his left hand to divert some of the flow as he studied marks on the floor of the pipe.

"What is it?" she asked.

"More claw marks," he said.

"Two sets?"

Grand nodded. "Both cats came in here, though there aren't any marks on the lip."

"Which means?"

"The cats didn't climb into the pipe. They jumped from somewhere outside and landed a yard inside." Grand stood, though he had to bow his head slightly. "The leap was precise and powerful."

"Just like when they disappeared into the sinkhole."

"Exactly." Grand sloshed ahead.

Hannah followed, her sneakers soaked with icy water. Even so, her feet weren't as cold as the backs of her shoulders. The chill of fear trickled down to the small of her back and settled there.

There had been awe in Grand's voice but it was tempered by concern. Hannah wasn't sure whether the scientist was worried about the power of the animals or whether it was something else, whatever it was he'd alluded to back on the mountaintop. But as she walked deeper into the pipe, the sounds of their footfalls splashing off the circular walls, she decided this much: She would give Gearhart the benefit of the doubt. He
was
worried about them.

Somehow, just thinking that made Hannah feel like she and Grand were a little less alone.

Sheriff Gearhart ran over to the chopper as soon as it landed. Special Ops senior officer Frank Lyon was the first one out of the helicopter. He was followed by Deputy Kline and Dr. Thorpe.

Gearhart was edgy. He wanted this action ready to go
now
. Chief Deputy Valentine had just radioed to say that he'd located the cell phone by tapping into the signal from three different points-the sheriff's office, the police station, and a car with the highway patrol. The spot where the three lines overlapped was where the cell phone was located, a place three miles southwest of Divide Peak, nearly one thousand feet up in the foothills. Gearhart instructed Valentine to radio the exact position to the chopper pilot.

Reaching the helicopter, Gearhart pulled the Special Ops senior officer aside. The sheriff had to shout to be heard over the roar of the rotor. "Did Valentine brief you?"

"He told me the pilot saw big cats."

"They may be all or just part of whatever's hitting us," Gearhart said. "Apparently, they've been located in the Gibraltar Dam drainage system."

"
In
it?"

Gearhart nodded. "Jim Grand and Hannah Hughes are there. They've been following the cats. Their last known position was southwest of Divide Peak. You've got night-vision gear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. I want you to go back up. We'll get you the exact locations of the drain openings as soon as we have them. In the meantime, crisscross the area. See if you can find these things."

"If I do?"

"If it's an animal, take it out," Gearhart said.

"If it's not?"

"Don't let the sonofabitch get away," Gearhart said.

"He's yours," Lyon assured him.

The Special Ops leader hustled back to the chopper. A minute later he was airborne.

Gearhart went over to the line of boulders beside the sinkhole. Dr. Thorpe had booted her laptop and they began studying her maps, including those of the municipal water districts. Deputy Kline had water district supervisor Dean Rede on the phone and was using Thorpe's maps to find out exactly where each of the pipes opened up.

Though things were ready to pop, Gearhart felt like he was on a leash. In Vietnam he'd been able to turn everything he had on enemies, from M40 sniper rifles to napalm, from surgical strikes to blanket assaults. Here, as in Los Angeles, it was tough to get the job done. There were too many rules and too many special interest groups.

But he promised himself that this job
would
get done.

Though Grand was mentally and physically spent, there was something vitally alive inside of him. Whether it was a survival instinct, naked curiosity, or both, it kept his senses and limbs running at top speed.

Curiosity was certainly a large part of it. Grand had to fight being distracted by the creatures-by the wonder of them, by the questions he had about them, by whatever had apparently roused a pair of saber-tooth cats from eons of hibernation. He had to remember that he was the hunter and they were the prey. If Grand allowed his
moat
to weaken, if he let the roles become reversed, then he and Hannah would die.

And there was something else that concerned him even more than the cats. Something about the painting in the lower cave. A suggestion that danger was greater than what they'd see. Far greater.

Grand was able to move quickly in here. The pipe was on a slight up-slope, and he was able to straddle the water as it flowed down the center. There was debris in the water- branches, water bottles, the occasional drowned field mouse and rattlesnake. That meant the grate had also been torn out from somewhere up ahead. He hoped it was an old break, that the cats weren't so far ahead they were already in the mountains or in other tunnels.

The water flow was becoming heavier the farther they went. Grand didn't know how often the system was flushed, but he suspected it would get pretty rough in here before long. He picked up the pace.