Ginger sidled up to Anjou. “Henri, we have a problem.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait until we get the herd on the road.”
“That was my friend in Washington. The army has formally terminated Project Hannibal.”
“Um. Disappointing, but not unexpected. It won’t matter now. In a week or two, the herd will be in the wild. Once the news . . .”
“In a week or two, the herd could be dead.”
Anjou turned to stare. A joke? Ginger had never shown any sign of having a sense of humor.
She nodded, completely serious. “The army isn’t just ending Project Hannibal’s funding, they’ve decided to terminate the product of the project—to slaughter the animals.”
“Slaughter them?” Anjou felt the blood drain from his face. Twelve years of work. His hope for scientific recognition, for fame, for the rewards that ought, by right, to accompany his achievement. He’d brought back mammoths, for God’s sake!
He grasped Ginger’s sleeve. “Who can we call? The vice president, she was interested. That senator . . .”
Ginger shook her head. “My contact informs me this decision was taken at the highest levels. With the election coming soon, the administration has decided to back the homestead movement whole-heartedly. They’re eliminating all evidence that they funded ‘mutant’ animals that might get in the way of drought-stricken Midwest farmers making a new start in Alaska.”
All the work, all the planning . . .
“There must be something we can do,” Anjou whispered. “I’ll tell Cortez to take them into Canada. Out on the tundra, the border’s just a line on the map.”
“Canada won’t defy the US military,” Ginger said.
“I’m not giving up! We’ve done so much, come so far . . .”
Ginger held his arm in a cat’s-paw grip, red-painted nails ever-so-lightly digging into his skin. “This changes nothing. Luis will keep the mammoths out of sight. Let the army waste its resources searching for a handful of animals in the vastness of the Arctic. Meanwhile, we’ll do as we said. As soon as Luis gets the herd safely to the target point, we’ll begin the campaign to enlist public sympathy.”
Anjou began to feel a little brighter. “You’re right. Hell, the public screams if the forest service tries to cull a few feral horses or wild deer. They’ll go nuts over killing a mammoth. But still . . .” He sobered, picturing Diamond, his exquisite creation, cut down in a hail of machine-gun fire from a hovering helicopter. “This is the army. Killing is what they do best.”
Ginger made calming motions with her hands. “Don’t despair. Even if the worst happens, even if we lose the main herd, the army doesn’t know about Gold and Silver. As long as we keep those two mammoths hidden, we have hope. Eventually, the administration’s position will change. Environmental concerns will once again be seen as essential for national security.” Her smile dimpled her cheeks. “And the first time some hunter brags online about bagging a mammoth or offers a tusk for sale, sympathy will increase tenfold.”
Anjou cringed at her cold-bloodedness, but he knew she was right. “Publicity is the key. We’ll have to rally every tree hugger in the country to save the mammoths.”
Cortez had all eight mammoths loaded in the transports now. With shouts and bangs, the drivers stowed the loading ramps and locked the cargo doors.
Anjou nodded toward the trucks. “Cortez will go ballistic when he finds out the army wants to kill off his pets.”
“Then we won’t tell him.”
Cortez gave a final wave as he and his partner boarded the passenger compartment of the lead truck. With a noisy grinding of gears, the two mammoth transports pulled out.
Ginger patted Anjou’s hand. “Don’t worry. Soon the US government will come to us, begging to reinstate Project Hannibal.”
Anjou gazed after the departing mammoths. “And if they don’t?”
Ginger nodded sagely. “Let me think about that. It’s always good to have a backup plan.”
CHAPTER 6
The worst road in America
In the lead truck’s passenger cabin, Luis turned his tablet to the video feeds from the cargo bays. The mammoths looked quietly miserable, heads down, ignoring the stacks of hay, swaying with the trucks’ jerky movements. Don’t worry, babies. Soon you’ll have a whole new world to explore.
Beside him, Brandon sighed happily. “Three weeks in the wild on someone else’s dime, then the rest of the summer off. Ginger must have put something in Anjou’s coffee for him to be so generous.” He stretched his six-foot three-inch frame as far as the compartment would allow. “I like old Ginger. She’s kind of like the doting aunt I never had.”
Only if you’re nephew to a barracuda, Luis thought. But Brandon, never the most penetrating of men, was easy to win over with a smile and an attaboy.
Luis looked up. “You packed the wind-powered generator?” Keeping his tablet charged was crucial to the mission: it was loaded with detailed topographic maps and able to track the mammoths’ positions by satellite from a transponder chip inserted under each animal’s skin.
“Stop worrying,” Brandon said. “We’ve got the portable generator and everything else on the list. All first-class stuff, very light. Down sleeping bags, nice pop-up tent. Four weeks’ worth of food, just in case. I told Anjou that if you and I had to camp out in the bush, I was damn well going to pick the equipment out myself. I mean, what does he know? He thinks ‘roughing it’ means no room service.”
“I’m sure it’s all fine.” Luis’s teeth rattled as the trucks bounced over anonymous backroads, bumping over broken pavement and gravel.
He zoomed the camera in on
