“And just what, exactly, do we know about Mr. Fogarty?” Bulatt asked pointedly.
“Not much, at the moment; but that’s about to change.”
“I like the way this is going,” Preithat smiled. “Colonel Kulawnit was correct about the value of your organization; I should have listened more carefully. Perhaps we do have more evidence than I thought.”
“In that regard, Major Prethat,” Bulatt said, “would you mind if I take the remains of those two Clouded Leopards and a few of the items we found at the Tanga Island scene and send them back to our wildlife forensics lab in Oregon? Our scientists may be able to find some additional evidentiary links that we’re not aware of at this point.”
“Of course,” Preithat said. “I’ll have them transferred to you immediately. And while you are doing that, I will have Captain Kulawnit and her Rangers continue their search for additional evidence and information about our illicit hunters and killers here in Thailand.”
“The team approach. Works every time,” Younger smiled broadly.
“Yes, it does,” Bulatt agreed as he brought his palms together in a polite wai, and then extended his right hand to Preithat. “Major, if you’ll please excuse us, and pass on our congratulations and good-byes to Khun Achara, I believe Peter and I have some work to do.”
CHAPTER 22
In the suite of a modest and very remote Phuket hotel
Yawning tiredly, Pete Younger finally looked up from his laptop computer screen, stretched, and then surveyed the darkened living room of their two bedroom suite. There wasn’t much to it. A pair of old desks and chairs — the second set requiring an extra bribe to the maintenance man — a cheap dresser bearing an old CRT television and a desk phone, two additional stuffed chairs, three doors leading to the two small bedrooms and the shared bathroom, and a service cart bearing plates of half-eaten food and four empty coffee pots standing by the locked and bolted door.
They’d been working well into the evening, each digging relentlessly at their available data-sets while intermittently reaching out to the internet.
“Well,” Younger muttered, “I think it’s safe to conclude that our Mr. Fogarty is not a very nice chap.”
Bulatt looked from his computer hopefully. “Find something we can use?”
“No, unfortunately, it’s not illegal to play cut-throat politics in the exporting small arms industries. Pretty much SOP for that group.”
“Any long-standing partnerships?”
“Not so far. Looks like he back-stabs everyone pretty early in his deals. Classic predatory lone wolf behavior. You finding anything?”
“Residence in Bend, Oregon. Current Oregon and Idaho hunting licenses, but no active tags. I’ve got messages in to both fish and game agencies.”
“Any violations on file?”
“Several in Washington State prior to five years ago resulting in a life-time hunting ban,” Bulatt replied. “Nothing after that.”
“Think he learned his lesson?”
“A predatory lone wolf with a taste for blood and money to burn? I doubt it.”
“Sure, why hunt among the riffraff when you can form a competitive killing pack with some like souls?”
“Precisely.”
“Find anything else?”
“I’ve got an interesting lead,” Bulatt said. “The likely manufacturer of those flashers is located in Redmond, Washington. I used to work that area as a field agent, so I’m going to check it out personally.”
“So, at least we’re making some progress.”
“Yeah, but not much. Let’s hope that Achara is having a little better luck at her end.”
CHAPTER 23
In the break room of the Draganov Research Center
Sergei Draganov and Aleksei Tsarovich had returned to the sanctuary of the Center’s lockable break room, and were now back to drinking vodka and arguing passionately. Both men were physically and emotionally exhausted.
“They will be here in one week,” Draganov pointed out for the second time. “We must have everything arranged by then. We have no choice in the matter. None whatsoever.”
“But would you let them come here, on our clinic grounds?”
Draganov’s blurry eyes widened in shock. “No, certainly not! We can never let them see the early mistakes — the creatures at MAX. If word got out to the research community, we would be finished. At best, we would never receive financial support again from anyone… at worst, we would be arrested.”
“I tell you again, we should have destroyed them at birth, Sergei Arturovich. We never should have let them live.”
“But there is so much we can learn from their development, even if it is… abnormal development.”
“There’s a big difference between learning and keeping evidence that can be used against us.”
“Yes, I understand that now,” Draganov acknowledged. “After the hunt is over, and Marcus and his men are gone, we will deal with the animals in MAX.”
In the Phuket hotel suite
Gedimin Bulatt had just drifted into a blissful sleep when the phone on the lamp table near his head began to ring loudly.
He fumbled for the phone, listened intently for about twenty seconds, reached for his Blackberry, quickly checked his e-mail listing, and then said “okay, we’ve got it. Thanks!”
He was starting to type with his thumbs on the Blackberry’s small keyboard when Pete Younger stumbled into the doorway of his small suite room.
“What the hell’s all that bloody racket about… and what time is it?” Younger demanded, trying to blink himself awake.
“That was Achara, and it’s four-thirty in the morning.”
“Achara? What’s she doing up at this hour?”
“Apparently working harder than we are,” Bulatt replied as he continued to type. “Chief Narusan found a latent print on the battery of that remote transmitter when he took it apart. She sent a photo of it to me, and I’m forwarding it to you right now.”
Younger’s eyes snapped wide open. “Christ, one of those bastards may be on file somewhere. I’ll get our Interpol lads on it ASAP.” He whirled around and ran over to his desk, indifferent to the fact that he was still in his underwear, sat down, activated his satellite-linked laptop, and quickly began calling up screens.
Bulatt pulled himself into a pair of jeans and then followed Younger into the living room where he collapsed into one of the stuffed chairs.
“Hell of a bloke, that Narusan. Sounds to me like you created yourself a CSI monster to go along with your princess warrior,” Younger said, his eyes now completely focused on his computer screen, “who, by the way, is an absolute doll, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed,” Bulatt said with a discernable edge to his voice.
“And?” Younger said, looking up from his laptop quizzically.
“And nothing. She’s Kulawnit’s daughter, for Christ sake.”
Younger smiled. “Feeling a little predatory, are we?”
“She’s a family friend, and a kid who’s deeply upset about her brother and father. I’m not going to take
