Defector. Traitor.
He glanced at Ginger, standing at his side in raincoat and scarf, seemingly imperturbable.
“Are you sure defecting to Russia is the only way?” he asked.
She clucked her tongue. “The only way? Of course not. You’re welcome to remain and debate with the Department of Defense over who owns the research you have done at US government expense—you or they. Of course, that will be after they have arrested you, deported me, and slaughtered your life’s work. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not, my dear. I’ve always relied on you completely. But what about Zhurov? Are you sure he’s cleared everything with the Russian government?”
She took Anjou’s arm, urging him forward. “You’ll be welcomed as a hero. Two breeding mammoths is a major coup.”
He glanced at the shipping container where the two precious mammoths awaited transport. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “The important thing is to save Silver and Gold. It’s just—this is such a big step.”
A crane hoisted a container filled with the equipment taken from the research lab. Anjou clenched his fist so hard his nails bit into his palm. There would be hell to pay if they damaged the cryogenic electron microscope.
Anjou had achieved so much, but where were the accolades and awards? The television interviews? His picture on national news? In international journals?
Where was the money?
The crane chugged. The container lowered into the boat’s hold. Anjou feared that if this strategy failed, his career would similarly disappear from sight, never to be resurrected.
At a crewman’s signal, Anjou and Ginger walked to the slick gangway to board the boat.
At the first step from pier to ramp, Anjou hesitated. His gaze wandered back to the bleak shelter behind him. This is it. After tonight, there’s no turning back.
In that moment, spotlights lit the pier like a Broadway stage. Sirens blaring, two coast guard cutters drew up. “FBI,” squawked a bullhorn. “Stay where you are, hands in sight.” Anjou stepped back onto US soil, arms raised in the air.
Three of the dockworkers shed slickers to reveal flak jackets with FBI printed in fluorescent yellow. “This boat and crew are under arrest for illegally entering US waters.” The message was repeated in Russian.
Ginger took two steps onto the gangway, but an armed FBI agent blocked her way. She glared as he locked handcuffs onto her wrists.
“Ji-Young Kim, you are under arrest for espionage, smuggling, and conspiracy. You have the right to remain silent . . .”
Other agents rounded up the boat’s crew and frisked them for weapons. To Anjou’s relief, it was all quite civilized—no gunplay, no desperate attempt to escape.
A burly agent pulled an unresisting Anjou to the side and patted down his pockets. “You can put your hands down now, sir.” Anjou hoped the man would think it was the cold making his hands tremble.
The agent reached into Anjou’s jacket and unclipped the microphone.
“I hope you got all the evidence you need,” Anjou said.
The man grinned. “Yes, sir. It all came through loud and clear. We appreciate your cooperation.”
Ginger’s eyes locked on Anjou, wide with surprise and hot with hate.
“Sorry, my dear,” Anjou said. “I’m afraid your Russian boyfriend is going to be disappointed.”
CHAPTER 40
A matter of jurisdiction
Kanut’s stomach churned. That stuffed-shirt Major Butterick, charging in with his Black Hawk not to help the crash victims but to slaughter the mammoths.
The young private next to him carried an M14 sharpshooter’s rifle.
Doc Dupris’s mouth dropped open. “What? Kill the animals? What kind of rescue is this?”
Butterick pushed Doc Dupris aside. “Lady, I’ll be glad to give you a lift after I’ve finished here. Soldier, fire at will.”
“Halt, soldier.” Kanut stepped in front of the shooter. I should have my head examined. He put as much bluster into his voice as he could manage. “The army has no authority here.”
Butterick snapped, “Out of my way, State Trooper. This is federal land.”
“That gives authority to US Fish and Wildlife, not the army. And under concurrent jurisdiction rules, Alaska State Troopers have . . .”
Doc Dupris dashed away, down the hill. “Mr. Cortez! Run! They’re going to shoot them!”
The mammoths were a hundred yards downhill—easy targets for a skilled marksman. Halfway between, Cortez froze like a deer in the headlights. The damn fool was going to get himself killed.
The sharpshooter looked up at the major, his young face filled with doubt. “Sir, I can’t proceed with civilians in the line of fire.”
“Then change your position!”
Kanut raised a hand. “Son, put away that weapon or you’ll be up on charges. This is a national wildlife refuge—you understand what that means? Every animal here is under my protection.”
Sera had abandoned the old lady and begun running as soon as she heard her aunt’s shout. Already, she was halfway to the herd.
Doc Dupris moved to the left, making fan out motions. Sera jogged right and Cortez held the middle. Kanut approved: as coordinated as the wolf pack, but with a purpose to protect the herd.
Butterick’s face got even redder. “Kanut, you have a court order!”
Kanut nodded slowly. “I got a court order to remove dangerous animals from private property. But this ain’t private property, and I don’t see any dangerous animals.”
“What do you call those?”
Kanut scratched his bristly chin. “Those? To me they look like moose.”
“Moose? Bullshit.” Butterick turned to the private. “You have your orders.”
Kanut spoke to the soldier. “Son, this isn’t Afghanistan, this is the United States of America. And I’m an Alaska state trooper telling you that’s an illegal order. Are you
