Read Online CRO-MAGNON by Robert Stimson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Stimson
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Calder wondered if the man was ex-military. He certainly didn’t act like a corporation rep. The bus rattled past a prefab shack and stopped near a beat-up looking helicopter of indeterminate make.
Blaine groaned. “Look where somebody painted over a red star,” she said. “Don’t they have anything new in this country?”
Fitrat stood and moved forward, Teague behind her. Calder thought the woman looked disgruntled. He hoped she wouldn’t hinder the mission. He turned to Blaine.
“ Modern equipment is probably the least of their worries.” He followed her forward. “After years of civil war, I bet they can barely feed themselves.”
The aging pilot looked as if he had come with the helicopter. He squinted at them and touched his greasy visor.
“ Achik, da ?”
Teague nodded. The pilot swung the luggage aboard and chivvied the four passengers up the worn metal steps. Calder saw that the helicopter was primarily a cargo carrier, two pairs of hard plastic seats having been bolted to the perforated floor among rusting pallets.
“ With all Salomon’s money, you couldn’t afford decent transport?” he said to Teague.
The facilitator scowled. “Short notice.”
Calder glanced at Fitrat. She looked glum but not worried. Having had enough of the woman’s ropy cigarillos, he hoped smoking was prohibited.
Despite the helicopter’s shabby appearance, it lifted smoothly. The pilot flew along the Pamir highway beside the Gunt, then veered south into an intersecting valley and followed a narrow gravel road. On either side, snow-covered mountains soared toward a thin blue sky.
After a few minutes, they passed over a village of stone buildings piled atop each other and huddled against a mountainside. Small earthen pens held goats, and rock walls separated what Calder supposed were subsistence gardens during the summer. He made out a small orchard of what might be mulberry trees.
He consulted his map. “Rosht-Kala,” he said to Blaine. “The only qishlaq we’ll see.”
She nodded. “This corner of the Pamir is supposed to be nearly uninhabited.”
If she still felt nervous, he thought, she covered it. Below, lay steep slopes sparsely covered by stunted oaks and dotted with desolate clearings. They flew above a dirt track until it petered into a high meadow against a band of cedars, the spreading branches dark green against the dazzling snow.
Higher, the trees segued into scraggly stands of birch and then what Calder guessed was creeping juniper. They flew between snow-covered slopes and finally skimmed a glacier resembling a swollen worm of blue ice. The engine strained to cross a high pass, and he could see ranks of snowy ridges and rocky peaks stretching to the horizon with no sign of civilization.
The helicopter descended into a canyon to the south, no wider than a stone’s throw, and flew through a buffeting wind above a twisting glacier, then followed a rushing stream, the whup-whup of the blades beating against the steep walls. They flew over a log hut. The canyon angled left and widened, and Calder could see a gunmetal lake, about two miles long east to west and a half-mile wide. On three sides, snowy mountainsides rose toward barren peaks. On the east, a natural berm overhung another canyon, the ice-impacted rocks and dirt standing about twenty feet above the water.
“ This place is out of sight,” Blaine said. “Be a good setting for one of those middle-of-nowhere SUV commercials.”
They flew closer to the lake. Across the water, Calder could see a patch of level ground near a canyon. Two small structures hugged the narrow shoreline, the bleak monotony broken only by scattered pingos that had punched through the snow and by a tiny metal dock fronting the camp.
“ I can see why the government commissioned a hydroelectric survey,” Blaine said. “A constant supply of meltwater to feed the stream, if the dam is stable.”
Calder reckoned that the two structures had been flown in. One
Blaine groaned. “Look where somebody painted over a red star,” she said. “Don’t they have anything new in this country?”
Fitrat stood and moved forward, Teague behind her. Calder thought the woman looked disgruntled. He hoped she wouldn’t hinder the mission. He turned to Blaine.
“ Modern equipment is probably the least of their worries.” He followed her forward. “After years of civil war, I bet they can barely feed themselves.”
The aging pilot looked as if he had come with the helicopter. He squinted at them and touched his greasy visor.
“ Achik, da ?”
Teague nodded. The pilot swung the luggage aboard and chivvied the four passengers up the worn metal steps. Calder saw that the helicopter was primarily a cargo carrier, two pairs of hard plastic seats having been bolted to the perforated floor among rusting pallets.
“ With all Salomon’s money, you couldn’t afford decent transport?” he said to Teague.
The facilitator scowled. “Short notice.”
Calder glanced at Fitrat. She looked glum but not worried. Having had enough of the woman’s ropy cigarillos, he hoped smoking was prohibited.
Despite the helicopter’s shabby appearance, it lifted smoothly. The pilot flew along the Pamir highway beside the Gunt, then veered south into an intersecting valley and followed a narrow gravel road. On either side, snow-covered mountains soared toward a thin blue sky.
After a few minutes, they passed over a village of stone buildings piled atop each other and huddled against a mountainside. Small earthen pens held goats, and rock walls separated what Calder supposed were subsistence gardens during the summer. He made out a small orchard of what might be mulberry trees.
He consulted his map. “Rosht-Kala,” he said to Blaine. “The only qishlaq we’ll see.”
She nodded. “This corner of the Pamir is supposed to be nearly uninhabited.”
If she still felt nervous, he thought, she covered it. Below, lay steep slopes sparsely covered by stunted oaks and dotted with desolate clearings. They flew above a dirt track until it petered into a high meadow against a band of cedars, the spreading branches dark green against the dazzling snow.
Higher, the trees segued into scraggly stands of birch and then what Calder guessed was creeping juniper. They flew between snow-covered slopes and finally skimmed a glacier resembling a swollen worm of blue ice. The engine strained to cross a high pass, and he could see ranks of snowy ridges and rocky peaks stretching to the horizon with no sign of civilization.
The helicopter descended into a canyon to the south, no wider than a stone’s throw, and flew through a buffeting wind above a twisting glacier, then followed a rushing stream, the whup-whup of the blades beating against the steep walls. They flew over a log hut. The canyon angled left and widened, and Calder could see a gunmetal lake, about two miles long east to west and a half-mile wide. On three sides, snowy mountainsides rose toward barren peaks. On the east, a natural berm overhung another canyon, the ice-impacted rocks and dirt standing about twenty feet above the water.
“ This place is out of sight,” Blaine said. “Be a good setting for one of those middle-of-nowhere SUV commercials.”
They flew closer to the lake. Across the water, Calder could see a patch of level ground near a canyon. Two small structures hugged the narrow shoreline, the bleak monotony broken only by scattered pingos that had punched through the snow and by a tiny metal dock fronting the camp.
“ I can see why the government commissioned a hydroelectric survey,” Blaine said. “A constant supply of meltwater to feed the stream, if the dam is stable.”
Calder reckoned that the two structures had been flown in. One
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