horn.”
Tiger leaned forward, one fist clenched, her thumb pressing down on the topmost finger. She felt the light touch of the Indian’s hand on her arm. Tracker shook his head—not an order, one comrade cautioning another that the time to strike had not yet arrived. Tiger nodded, unclenched her fist, and sat back, crossing her long legs.
“And in Brazil,” the blond continued, oblivious to how close he had just come to serious injury, “the same damn thing, only
this
time the victims had been chasing some kind of rare parrot.”
Sensing he finally had everyone’s attention, the blond looked up. “I know. That’s the first thing we thought, some band of crazed environmentalists. Especially with the last one. I mean, it was in their sacred damn rain forest—that’s holy ground to those twits.”
The monitor showed a forensics team working over the ground in the jungle. Torn and gutted corpses were hanging from nearby trees—all missing some portion of their skeletons.
“But we found one thing in all those kills that eliminated our Green friends.…”
As if sync’ed to the blond’s words, the monitor zoomed in on what looked like a bloody pelt. This one wasn’t hanging, it was carelessly tossed to one side. But it was just as dead.
“Dogs,” the blond continued. “Huskies up north, Ridge-backs in Africa, and some kind of mongrel we’d never heard of in South America. All dead. No way the Greenies wouldkill dogs. Especially like this. They look like they’ve been clawed into pieces by some ferocious giant cat.”
The Indian was lost in thought, concentrating on the data, reaching inside himself for information he knew was in there … somewhere.
“ THERMAL’S GREAT for tracking,” the blond man said, three hours later. “But it’s not like we can show the footage to a lip-reader.”
“Try
watching
,” Tiger said. “You see that old Chinese man sitting opposite him now? You think this ‘Cross’ guy speaks Chinese?”
“In the field, to speak a language you are not expected to know is to discard a potent weapon,” Tracker added, supporting the one person on the team he regarded as an equal. “Their talk will all be in English.”
All eyes moved to the screen. The Chinese man was wearing some sort of heavily embroidered robe.
“Red,” Tracker said. “The color for gold.”
“Ssssh,” the blond man commanded.
Tiger and Tracker exchanged looks, but said nothing.
If their lip-reader was sufficiently skilled, the team would soon receive the following printout:
“The Japanese have short memories,” the Chinese man said
.
“I don’t.”
“Yes. This well known, Mr. Cross.”
“Spare me the tea ceremony, Chang. There’s someone missing from this meeting.”
“And that would be—?”
“Mr. Green.”
“Ah. But that gentleman doesn’t know the cost of transportation to this place. Not yet.”
“Just spell it out. Then I’ll tell you what it costs.”
“The Japanese are our best market, by far. They will outbid anyone, and they will buy—”
“Yeah. Sure. Fine. Right. Okay.”
“I do not understand.”
“Then try this: I’m not getting paid to listen to parables. Get down to it. Now. Or I’m gone.”
Chang instantly comprehended that the circular negotiation tactics he had been taught since childhood would be futile with the empty-eyed man sitting across from him
.
“On the Kamchatka Peninsula live the largest bears in the world. Their paws are worth a fortune—the Japanese will pay whatever is asked. The chain was simple enough to establish. The Russians have a man here in Chicago. His name is—”
“Viktor.”
“You
do
know him. This is most excellent. Viktor is a very greedy individual. We have great hopes that his successor will be more reasonable.”
“I like your robe, Chang. Very colorful. Powerful color. This insect that disturbs you? I could probably crush it under that robe of yours with only, perhaps, a twenty-pound
Tiger leaned forward, one fist clenched, her thumb pressing down on the topmost finger. She felt the light touch of the Indian’s hand on her arm. Tracker shook his head—not an order, one comrade cautioning another that the time to strike had not yet arrived. Tiger nodded, unclenched her fist, and sat back, crossing her long legs.
“And in Brazil,” the blond continued, oblivious to how close he had just come to serious injury, “the same damn thing, only
this
time the victims had been chasing some kind of rare parrot.”
Sensing he finally had everyone’s attention, the blond looked up. “I know. That’s the first thing we thought, some band of crazed environmentalists. Especially with the last one. I mean, it was in their sacred damn rain forest—that’s holy ground to those twits.”
The monitor showed a forensics team working over the ground in the jungle. Torn and gutted corpses were hanging from nearby trees—all missing some portion of their skeletons.
“But we found one thing in all those kills that eliminated our Green friends.…”
As if sync’ed to the blond’s words, the monitor zoomed in on what looked like a bloody pelt. This one wasn’t hanging, it was carelessly tossed to one side. But it was just as dead.
“Dogs,” the blond continued. “Huskies up north, Ridge-backs in Africa, and some kind of mongrel we’d never heard of in South America. All dead. No way the Greenies wouldkill dogs. Especially like this. They look like they’ve been clawed into pieces by some ferocious giant cat.”
The Indian was lost in thought, concentrating on the data, reaching inside himself for information he knew was in there … somewhere.
“ THERMAL’S GREAT for tracking,” the blond man said, three hours later. “But it’s not like we can show the footage to a lip-reader.”
“Try
watching
,” Tiger said. “You see that old Chinese man sitting opposite him now? You think this ‘Cross’ guy speaks Chinese?”
“In the field, to speak a language you are not expected to know is to discard a potent weapon,” Tracker added, supporting the one person on the team he regarded as an equal. “Their talk will all be in English.”
All eyes moved to the screen. The Chinese man was wearing some sort of heavily embroidered robe.
“Red,” Tracker said. “The color for gold.”
“Ssssh,” the blond man commanded.
Tiger and Tracker exchanged looks, but said nothing.
If their lip-reader was sufficiently skilled, the team would soon receive the following printout:
“The Japanese have short memories,” the Chinese man said
.
“I don’t.”
“Yes. This well known, Mr. Cross.”
“Spare me the tea ceremony, Chang. There’s someone missing from this meeting.”
“And that would be—?”
“Mr. Green.”
“Ah. But that gentleman doesn’t know the cost of transportation to this place. Not yet.”
“Just spell it out. Then I’ll tell you what it costs.”
“The Japanese are our best market, by far. They will outbid anyone, and they will buy—”
“Yeah. Sure. Fine. Right. Okay.”
“I do not understand.”
“Then try this: I’m not getting paid to listen to parables. Get down to it. Now. Or I’m gone.”
Chang instantly comprehended that the circular negotiation tactics he had been taught since childhood would be futile with the empty-eyed man sitting across from him
.
“On the Kamchatka Peninsula live the largest bears in the world. Their paws are worth a fortune—the Japanese will pay whatever is asked. The chain was simple enough to establish. The Russians have a man here in Chicago. His name is—”
“Viktor.”
“You
do
know him. This is most excellent. Viktor is a very greedy individual. We have great hopes that his successor will be more reasonable.”
“I like your robe, Chang. Very colorful. Powerful color. This insect that disturbs you? I could probably crush it under that robe of yours with only, perhaps, a twenty-pound
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