Mammoth (39 page)

Warburton shrugged. He wasn’t going to mention that Howard would look like a fool; that was a given, the whole reason for first trying to find the damned beast themselves. Warburton would have sent up all the flares ten seconds after the first phone call, but he wasn’t Howard.

“Not much. You’ll catch some flack for not reporting it at once, but the search will be nationwide, and they’ll be found.”

“Okay. Next-worst scenario. We find them, but it’s real public and everybody finds out Fuzzy was stolen. I mean, much as I’d like to, we can’t just shoot ’em even if we find them isolated out in the country.”

“Howard,” Andrea said, “you wouldn’t shoot them in any case.”

“You’re right. But we can hold them at gunpoint, make a citizen’s arrest, right? They
have
stolen a pretty valuable property. They
have
broken the law.”

“As you say, men licensed to carry guns can hold them for
you,” Warburton said. “They might get charged with something later, since there is no bounty or warrant out on them; we can handle that. But this may not be possible without people finding out about it. In fact, most of the scenarios I can imagine, it’s going to get out that Fuzzy was stolen. It may already have. Working with this many people, there will be leaks.”

“Probably,” Howard agreed. “But in that case, I want it known that
I
was the guy who tracked them down and brought him back.”

“Understood.”

“So…best-case scenario, we find him in a truck on the road somewhere, stop them, and drive quietly back to Fuzzyland. No publicity, no arrests. Chances?”

“Slim.”

Howard sighed. “Okay. I’d settle for the second possibility. But until then we look for him,
hard
, and we work hard to find a way to end this quietly.”

“If they’ve gone to ground in the country, we haven’t got a prayer.”

“I know that. Every instinct tells me they will stay on the move. They will know they are more conspicuous on lonely country roads, which means they’ll stay on the major roads, probably on the freeways. I-84 East and I-5 South get into empty country real fast, so I think they’ll head north toward Seattle. Easier to lose yourself in a big city, pull into an RV park or something like that if they need to stop. So our forces on the ground will concentrate on the Seattle metro area. Some of the helicopters will follow every road where they could be, with full electronic enhancement. But I have a feeling we’ll catch them with the satellites, tonight.”

“Got it. Now, I suggest we set a time frame before we call in the cops. Twenty-four hours.”

“From now, or from when he was stolen?”

“The latter.”

“Forty-eight hours.”

“Split the difference. Noon tomorrow.”

“That’s not a split…but okay.”

Andrea was once more conflicted. Part of her was fascinated by the process of the search. She’d learned a lot already. On the other hand, watching two boys playing soldier or spy
or something with such enthusiasm was rather boring. It wasn’t her sort of picture at all. She tended to tune out, but found herself coming back to the problem and the discussion, wondering if she could contribute.

“Before we set it all in motion, we need to prepare rules of engagement,” Warburton said.

“There should be an armed man with every team. They may have guns.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Susan wouldn’t use a gun.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Howard insisted. “But I don’t want any shooting unless someone is shot at first. No shooting at all if it could endanger Fuzzy.”

“Howard…”

“Don’t worry, Andrea. I don’t want to hurt them. Not that way, anyway.”

Andrea knew that was the best she could get. She could talk him out of taking his revenge later.

HELICOPTERS
fanned out along all the roads leading away from Fuzzyland. With each minute the number of those possible roads and the mileage involved expanded.

A visual inspection was the first step for vehicles on the road. They had a plate number, but most of Howard’s advisors expected that to have been changed by now. They ignored the tow vehicle; that could have been changed, too. They were looking, first, for a beige forty-foot 2008 Wilderness fifth wheel with a broad red curving swoosh painted on the side, a fashionable design style for that vintage RV. It had been 3-D computer-modeled from the security videos of its comings and goings at Fuzzyland. There was a three-foot-long dimple on the left side from where Susan had turned too sharply coming home one night and scraped it against a tree. That dimple was still there on the video from just hours ago.

With this information a helicopter could hover over the parking lot of a big shopping center and send pictures back to computers that could pick such a trailer out of thousands of vehicles in seconds. Then the chopper could move in and examine it with infrared.

There were a million holes in the plan, and Howard and
Warburton knew it. There were covered parking garages, but very few high enough to admit an RV. As well as switching tow vehicles, they might have switched trailers. A big horse trailer would do fine, so they were being examined, too, and there were thousands of horse trailers out there on the country roads. But a horse in a trailer gave off a very different infrared signature from a mammoth, and they could be quickly eliminated.

Both Susan’s and Matt’s bank records had been scrutinized and showed that Susan had bought only one RV in her lifetime, and Matt had bought none. Howard didn’t know if they had planned this together, but he was certain they had had outside help. If she was smart, she would have kept her outside contact to a minimum. Howard was willing to bet only three or four others beyond Matt and Susan knew
anything
about this. They would be among the small, clandestine group of animal rights extremists, who as a rule didn’t have a lot of money. Of course, one financial angel could have donated another RV for the cause, so if it came to it every RV, horse trailer, and truck for a thousand miles would be examined, but by then it would be in the hands of the police. Howard was going with his instincts, with the percentages, and Susan hadn’t had a lot of time to set this all up. She only had Mondays to accomplish the physical parts of the plan, and probably most of the rest, too, since she couldn’t risk using her home or office phones or computers at all.

Still, as the hours rolled by he knew his prospects were getting grim. It was just so damn much territory, and if he was guessing wrong about any of the variables he was screwed. All she had to do to beat
him
was to sit tight in a well-covered place…and wait to be picked up by the police.

He was feeling more depressed than at any time he could remember as the reports kept coming in. Twenty-three similar trailers had been located so far and examined more closely, and they’d come up empty. He had to wait for night.

That was when Andrea brought him a sandwich for lunch. She sat down beside him and smiled.

“So, have you figured out where she’s going yet?” she asked.

“Hell, no. It’s a big country.” Howard took a bite of the fancy sandwich and wished he could have ordered out for a Big Mac.

“Damn right it is, and that means you’re just wasting a lot of money and letting them get farther away, which the police won’t appreciate when you are finally forced to call them in.”

“Is that what you’re saying? Call them in now?”

“No, my dear. I’m saying, let’s narrow the search.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“By thinking like Susan. Why did she steal Fuzzy?”

Howard snorted. “Because she objects to him performing like—what was it she said last time we had it out over this?—’a trained seal.’ As if she hasn’t spent all her life making wild animals perform—”

“Never mind that. She’s obviously had a change of heart.”

“Unless she just wants to poke me in the eye,” Howard said sullenly.

“No, dear, that’s your style, not hers.”

Howard said nothing. She was right. He was working on it, but knew he’d never entirely get his thirst for revenge under control. That’s what they were doing here in the first place, instead of staying back home tending to things he could really do something about.

“What does she want for Fuzzy?” Andrea went on.

“She wants him to roam free and natural and not be ‘exploited.’” He couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice.

“Where can she find that for him?”

“Nowhere. Not as long as I own him. Damn it, I don’t treat that animal badly. He works twice a day, he is the most pampered animal in the
world
, he is happy—he seems happy to you, doesn’t—”

“Yes, I think he’s happy. Susan thinks it’d be better if he were in a wild animal park of some kind. She wants him out in the open air. She wants him to browse his own grass and eat leaves off wild trees.”

“Impossible. That nut
shot
at him.”

“I don’t know what her answer to that would be. Still, you’re going on the assumption that the only way she can ever hope to keep him is to hide him. Get to some place she has prepared, which could be anywhere in the United States…and keep him undercover
forever
. It would be smaller than his quarters back in Fuzzyland. She could never let him out in the sunshine—someone’s
bound
to notice a mammoth wandering
around—and all she would have gained is that he doesn’t have to perform in the circus. I think even Susan would agree that Fuzzy doesn’t actually mind performing. He even seems to like it, though I wouldn’t pretend to read his mind. All I know for sure that Fuzzy likes is Susan and grapes. He tolerates me because I bring grapes.”

“So what’s your point?”

“You think Susan is stupid enough to go through all this merely to move him from one prison to another? With a
smaller
jail cell when he gets there?”

“You’re going to make me ask the question, aren’t you? Okay, where is she taking him?”

“Canada.”

Howard laughed. Actually it was more of a snort. Andrea didn’t mind.

“Right. With her other troubles, she needs to cross an international border.”

“The longest undefended international border in the world. Large parts of it, mostly in Washington and Idaho and Montana, are thickly wooded, sparsely inhabited wilderness, not very well patrolled.”

Howard was beginning to look thoughtful.

“But when she’s there…she’s got the same problem. Hide him, or lose him.”

“Not necessarily. Circus animal acts are illegal in Canada now. Have been for…how many years?”

“Eight or nine, I guess,” Howard said, grumpily. It was a sore point with him. There were no longer circuses in most of Western Europe, and a growing but still minority movement wanted to ban animal acts and rodeos in the United States. He had wanted to take Fuzzy on a triumphant world tour, but it was never going to happen. There were plans for an Asian tour. People were still less fussy over there. The Japanese, with their cultural quirk for cuteness, were wild about Fuzzy; he sold more big-eyed Fuzzy soft toys there than anywhere in the world. In China Big Mama was the star, for some reason. Russia felt a cultural identification with mammoths. The huge majority of the frozen ones had been found in Siberia, and there were places where ancient mammoth bones piled up like driftwood. Russians were gaga about
both
of Howard’s mammoths.

“So what? He still belongs to me.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You remember the court decisions awarding him to you were highly controversial. I suspect you greased some wheels.”

“Me?
Bribe a judge?” He grinned.

“I’m sure it was much more subtle than that. Remember, at the time I was fighting on the other side. We heard rumors. I’m still not sure I shouldn’t still be
on
the other side, but like you, I don’t believe Fuzzy has been mistreated. Do you think a Canadian court might be persuaded that your ownership is…might we say…questionable?”

Howard said nothing.

“Once she got him across the border…what if she turned herself in? What if a team of lawyers was waiting for her when she got there? Do they call them solicitors up there? Anyway…how long do you think they could keep him tied up in court?”

“Years,” Howard muttered. He was resting his chin on his clasped hands, frowning. “I don’t have a lot of connections in Canada, not like down here.”

“I did a little Internet search while I was thinking this over. Canadian public opinion is solidly behind the ‘Free Fuzzy’ movement. Once he’s actually there, I think it would be the rare Canadian who would want to let him go back to the circus.”

“But what does Susan gain?”

Andrea ticked off points on her fingers. “Time, first of all. Like you said, maybe years. Two, Fuzzy doesn’t have to perform. The Canadian authorities aren’t fools; they’ll protect him. They could move him far, far north, near where his natural habitat would be, put him in a preserve with no roads leading in while the case is being adjudicated. Every day he stays free, it would be harder for you to get him back.”

Howard thought about it for almost a full minute. Then he smiled.

“Darling, I’ve finally found a woman as smart as me.”

“Smarter,” Andrea said.

Howard laughed, and picked up the phone. “Captain, we’re joining Mr. Warburton at Sea-Tac Airport, as soon as you can get clearance.” He punched another button. “Warburton, pull
everything you’ve got out of Oregon and California. Concentrate the search in the Seattle metro area, but most of all along the Canadian border. I want teams at every crossing, and continuous helicopter patrols from Puget Sound to Montana. I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

Then he stood up, pulled Andrea from her chair, and kissed her.

THE
lady is pretty smart
, Warburton admitted to himself after Howard called back to explain Andrea’s reasoning. Both of them were. He wouldn’t have thought of it; his mind didn’t work that way. He wouldn’t embark on a project knowing he would get
caught
…but it seemed the best possible outcome, in Susan’s terms. Warburton didn’t like Susan, didn’t like Andrea even more—she was always getting in his way. Warburton didn’t really like anybody very much, not even Howard. He didn’t have much of a life outside his job, but the job satisfied him and had made him quite wealthy over the years. He was a born problem solver, that was his thing, and he had very few scruples. Fuck the rules of engagement. He was enough of a realist to know that pointing a gun at two people and shouting
Freeze!
was worse than pointless unless you were prepared to use it. He would shoot to wound, the leg or the foot, if he could. But if worse came to worst he would do what he had to do. Like any cautious cop, he carried an untraceable piece-of-shit throwdown weapon to put in the hand of an awkward corpse. He had killed men twice before—only when he had to; he was not a maniac. He had suffered no nightmares. He knew he could do it.