Chapter Forty-Seven

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.

Chapter Forty-Eight

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.

At least Grand didn't have to look back and check on Hannah. He could hear her splashing through the middle of the pipe. Whatever the young woman's motives for being here, whether it was altruism, journalism, or a combination of the two, Hannah Hughes had a great deal of courage and stamina. Despite the danger, she was here, and that inspired a maelstrom of emotions.

Protectiveness. Respect.

Affection.

Grand hadn't felt that toward a woman since Rebecca died. When the feelings first started, turning his head to look at her, for no reason other than to look at her, he felt that he was being disloyal to his wife, experiencing warmth toward another woman. Back on the mountain he had tried to justify it, telling himself that Hannah's presence helped to keep his instincts sharp. That if anything happened to her he would blame himself. And that was true, as far as it went. Now, he couldn't lie to himself. Hannah wasn't just a jump start for his survival skills.

He cared for her, more and faster than he'd expected. He didn't know what Rebecca would have thought; all he knew was that if the roles were reversed, and Rebecca were alive and alone, he would feel happy for her. He would know that he had a special, irrevocable place in her life.

After a few minutes they reached a juncture. On the left, a downward-sloping pipe met the main conduit.

"Wait here," Grand said. "I want to check the pipe."

"Why can't I come?"

"I'm on point. That's my job."

"Seriously," she said.

"Seriously," he replied. "If I run into a cat and it attacks, I need someone to take the information back to Gearhart."

Hannah didn't argue.

The pipe was about eight feet away. Hannah shined her light ahead.

Grand crouched slightly, ready to spring ahead or back. He removed his belt as he neared the pipe. There wouldn't have been room to use the starbursts here but his belt might prove useful. He let the strap hang from his right hand while he held the flashlight in his left. He listened carefully for breathing or splashing, though it was difficult to hear anything other than the echo of the rushing water.

The pipe was a yard away. Grand approached cautiously and very, very slowly. He was aware that the cats could be getting away while he checked, though he didn't think they'd feel any urgency. They probably couldn't hear him because of the water, nor smell him because there was no wind. The cautious approach was for his own benefit-to give him time, even an extra second or two, to defend himself. If one of the cats did attack, he wanted to be able to detain it long enough for Hannah to get a good head start. He was also using the time to think of ways he could manage the tight space to his advantage. To brace himself against the side of the conduit, or use the water and slope to slide back toward the entrance. If he did encounter one of the cats, and it was hostile, Grand had decided he would have to noose it somehow, either around the mouth or throat, and hope to hold it. Get onto its back, where it wouldn't be able to reach him with teeth or claw. With any luck, their struggles would block the conduit and prevent the other cat from passing.

Until that second cat bites me in the ass and lifts me off like a rubber ball, he thought. But even that would be all right, as long as it bought Hannah time to get away.

Despite the danger, Grand was overwhelmed by a breathtaking sense of discovery. Not only about the cats but about the origins of modern humans. For the first time in his life Grand truly appreciated the awesome courage of his forebears. And he also understood the forces that necessitated the invention of weapons and their constant, painstaking refinement. It was like watching anthropological history unfold inside and out.