"It can still be his trophy," Grand said.

"You've got it. And trust me, if he can stop the cats he'll make the most of it. We'll see Gearhart standing beside dead saber-tooths on all the evening shows. The national ones."

Grand finished his coffee. "I've got to go."

"You know, if I were you I'd appeal to people's pocket-books," Hannah said. "Tell the county leaders how much they can make from a Live Prehistoric Animals attraction at the zoo."

"I'll have to think about it," Grand said.

The thought of caging these beasts also sat like a stone in Grand's gut. He knew he'd do it if it were the only way to keep them alive, but he suspected that captivity, even in a wildlife preserve, would kill them over time. There was something about these animals that seemed to require the open environment, the hunt, a connection with the earth itself. It was as if they became part of the land they ranged, drew strength from it.

Just like the gods in Chumash mythology, he thought, which was why they fought over it.

Grand put the coffee cup back in the kitchen. As he turned to go he suddenly realized that he had to say goodbye to Hannah. But just good-bye wouldn't quite cut it.

"I'll be done with everything around noon," Hannah said. "Can we link up then?"

"Sure," Grand said.

Hannah wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Grand.

"What's this?" he asked.

"My other cell phone number," she told him. "Let me know if anything interesting happens."

"Sure. How many cell phones do you have?" he asked.

"Three," she admitted. "Well, two now. I'm a reporter. Can't afford a dead battery or busy signal." She looked at him. "Do me one other favor?"

"Of course."

"Stay out of trouble."

"With?"

She grinned. "If you want to knock Gearhart's block off, that's fine. I mean with the tigers."

"I'll try to avoid them both," he said. "And by the way- there's something I should have told you before."

"What?"

"These animals-they're saber-toothed cats. People call them tigers because they look like tigers. But they aren't related to tigers. Or lions. They were their own species."

"Damn." She wrote a quick E-mail to the copy editor asking her to make the change.

"Sorry. I should have told you before."

"It's okay. You're a guy. The truth takes a while."

Hannah sent the E-mail, then looked at him. He looked at her.

"Well," he said after a long pause. "I better get going."

Hannah smiled-a little sadly, he thought. "Thanks again for everything," she said.

He smiled back, then turned and left. And kicked himself for that.

Rebecca is gone, he told himself. You can't let yourself die with her.

Grand continued kicking himself on both sides of his conscience all the way out to his car and as he drove home and as he walked along the path to his front door and took Fluffy, who was much more animated than he had been- and certainly more cheerful than Grand was at the moment, damn his own cowardly skin-out for a short walk.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Gearhart got Grand's message about there being a pride of cats in the mountains. The sheriff wasn't entirely surprised. He didn't think the deaths at the campsite had been caused by two animals. He still didn't believe that the cats were what Grand claimed them to be: resurrected prehistoric animals. He might as well say they were ghosts.

No. Whatever these animals were they had a reasonable, credible explanation. If they weren't tigers gussied up and set loose by some homicidal nutcase, maybe-maybe-they were mutations. And that was a reach. In any case, Gearhart would know for certain before long.

After placing his call to the 40th, the sheriff worked out a deployment plan at his desk. Then he went to the small cafeteria in the back of the building and took a nap on the couch. He was awakened at 8:00 A.M. by Deputy Valentine, who said that the sheriff had a call from Brigadier General J. D. Dori, commander of the 40th Division. The fifty-eight-year-old Dori and Gearhart went back over thirty years, to when Dori was a Marine drill instructor. Dori left the Marines in 1969 and joined the California Army National Guard two years later. He had been Gearhart's DI and they reconnected years later, when Gearhart moved to Los Angeles.

Don's 40th Infantry Division, mechanized, is headquartered at the Southern California Disaster Support Area at the Los Alamitos Armed Forces Reserve Center. Nicknamed the Sunburst Division-after its distinctive sun-patch-it has an authorized strength of just over fourteen thousand. Because of its involvement with the Los Angeles Riots of 1992, as well as flooding and earthquakes that struck with regularity, two of the division's busiest components have been the 40th Division Support Command, or DISCOM, based in Los Angeles; and the Engineer Brigade, which is based in Santa Barbara.

Don's subordinate had called the brigadier general at home and informed him of Gearhart's request for support troops. Don was calling back to say that forty division soldiers had been assigned to Gearhart under Lieutenant Anthony Mindar. An additional five troops would be sent in CH-47D Chinook helicopter to provide air reconnaissance only. Though the young lieutenant would be there to assist Gearhart in whatever way was required, the officer would be commanding his own personnel in any engagement.

Gearhart said he understood. What that meant, of course, was that other sheriffs would be prevented from taking command of the operation if it spilled into neighboring counties.

The troops would be trucked in. Because Gearhart didn't want to create panic in downtown Santa Barbara he asked that the armed troops drive directly to the junction of Ballinger Canyon and the Cuyama River. That was right before the border of Ventura County to the east and San Luis Obisbo County and Kern County to the north. Gearhart would personally inform the sheriffs of those counties about the operation and invite them to provide personnel.

Don told Sheriff Gearhart that the troops would be bringing night-vision gear, as requested, and would leave Los Angeles later in the morning. The sheriff thanked him.

After making the calls to his colleagues, Gearhart buzzed Chief Deputy Valentine and asked if there were any updates. When he'd returned from the field, Gearhart had left spotters on the ground and in the air around the site of the chopper crash. The ground personnel, heavily armed groups of four, were in constant radio contact with one another and with the highway-patrol chopper. The helicopter stayed in touch with them even when it returned to base to refuel. The spotters were all situated on high ground, which would have been impossible to access without the animals being seen.

Valentine said there had been no sightings.

At least Grand was right about that. The killers were night creatures. That would give Gearhart time to find possible places of egress and time set up a wall of armed National Guard personnel. He would leave his own teams behind the lines, covering the sinkholes and caves the animals had already been through, just in case they tried to double back.

Gearhart looked at his watch. It was nearly nine o'clock. He went to get a cup of coffee. Before turning to his map, there were two other tasks he had to do. One was to brief Santa Barbara officials about what was going on. The second was to brief Sergeant Marsha Levy, his public information officer, about everything that had happened so that she could hold a press conference. Gearhart would not be present for this one. There was too much to do and nothing to gain by answering questions about how the animals had managed to avoid capture. Levy was far better at apologizing and fudging.