The Dinosaur Hunter (27 page)

Then the helicopter roared overhead. It was in one big hurry, rolling over in a tight turn and settling in on the camp. It didn't land but hovered above the jacketed bones. I guess somebody on the ground attached the net because when the chopper rose, the net was dangling beneath it. It made a circle toward the east, then began to gain altitude. That was when a bright light stabbed out of the darkness from near the hills toward the lake and lit up the helicopter. The chopper turned away but the spot of the light stayed with it. Then a red streak leapt from the source of the light, tore through the rain, and plowed into the UH-1. It jerked at the impact, then rolled over on its side and went down with a massive fireball rising from its twisted remains. The light switched off and everything was quiet but the thunder and the grumble of a burning helicopter. All I can say is I was more than a bit confused over what had happened to the chopper, but grateful.

Below, the Wolves were coming at us again, just raising hell with their automatic weapons. I doubted that they knew their helicopter had been blasted out of the sky since all the action had occurred on the other side of our hill.

Standing before the bas relief of the mama T, Pick was screaming at the Russians to stop. It was none other than Cade Morgan who managed to scramble up to the dig. He proceeded to point a pistol at Pick, then stopped to look with awe at the great headless beast squatting there.

“Yes,” Pick said, “it is another T. rex. A mother T and she is on her nest, protecting it. It is the wonder of wonders. Nothing in paleontology has ever been seen like it before.”

The rain was picking up again, heavy drops striking the dig. To Pick's horrified eyes, the leg bones of the T began to come apart, sliding into the muck. “Help me, Cade,” Pick said. “We need to lay a tarp over it.”

Cade was over his initial shock. “I've got two sets of bones. I don't need another. No, I guess I need to kill you.”

Pick backed up against the side of the hill. The mud was flowing around him in a small river, coating his head, his shoulders, and his back. It was as if he was melting into the wall of mud. Above him, something was forming out of the mud. Cade saw it and laughed. Pick looked up and saw the muzzle of the mama T coming out of the mud. “Damn,” Cade said, “that's an ugly thing.”

Then there was a roar behind Cade and he turned to see what had made it. Pick took the opportunity to reach up, grasp a foot-long steak knife of a tooth, and pull it free before launching himself to plunge the tooth into Cade's back. Cade screamed and threw his head back as a huge light switched on, flooding the entire side of the hill with a blue-white fluorescence.

Jeanette and I slid down the hill, reaching the cave. “We're OK,” Ray said and I kept going to the lip of the dig. Pick was standing there over Cade who wasn't moving, mainly because there was a big brown tooth in his back. Then I noticed the snout, the teeth, and the bony brows of a giant skull protruding from the muck. “Hello, Mama,” I said. “You took care of your child, didn't you?” She didn't reply but I thought she looked happy for a sixty-five-million-year-old Tyrannosaurus rex.

I shaded my eyes from the glaring light, which suddenly switched off. I turned away, trying to get my night vision back, and then I heard the shriek of metal on metal and a thumping noise. It sounded like a steel hatch being thrown open. A huge reddish-purple dot was hanging in my eyes but as it faded, I slipped and slid my way around the dig and down the hill. On the way, I fell across a body. By its Hawaiian shirt, I saw it was one of the Russians lying on his back. There was an additional color to his shirt, a florid, bloody spot at the chest where there was also a big hole. Whatever kind of bullet had struck him was armor piercing.

I heard a voice I recognized but did not belong to the scene. “Mike, you OK?”

A big hand reached down and grasped mine and drew me up. It was Sam Haxby. I looked past him to what I now recognized was an armored car. Its engine noise was very familiar. I had been hearing it at night for weeks. The face painted on its front had reptilian eyes and a great, grinning mouth of teeth. Then I noticed Sam was carrying a huge rifle with what looked like a night scope and a big silencer on its barrel. He kicked the dead Wolf. “I think this is the last of them. Sorry it took so long for us to plug 'em. We wanted to make sure of our shots.”

“Sam,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at me as if I was daft. “Why, on regular patrol, Mike. Since them Green Monkey Wrench ecoterrorists hit us, we've been keeping an eye on our ranch and the BLM, don't you know? We've been watching your tent city for more than a while. You looked like you weren't doing nothing but digging in the dirt so we left you alone. But then Cade Morgan and these fellows arrived and we couldn't figure it out. Heard your radio calls, too, but we thought we'd just sit tight to see what was what. But when that damn black helicopter arrived, we knew it was time to stand up to these bastards. What are they, FBI, CIA, or some government agency we don't know about?”

“Russian mob,” I said. “And I think the helicopter was navy blue, not black.”

Sam took this disappointing news gracefully. “Well, I suppose that's almost as good.”

I was still in a mild state of shock. “You…you shot down the helicopter?”

“Naw. Jack did. Got her good, didn't he? Tell you what. Them old Soviet shoulder-mounted SA-14's work pretty good.”

“What else you got in those bunkers, Sam? Nuclear weapons?” He laughed. “They're too much trouble. Did you know a nuke degrades in ten years?”

I honestly didn't know that and said so while Sam kept laughing.

Jeanette slid down beside me and I helped her to her feet. She said, “Thank you, Sam. You saved us.”

Sam took off his hat as Carl and Jack climbed out of the armored car. They took off their hats, too. “Happy to help a neighbor, Jeanette,” Sam said.

Ray, Amelia, Laura, Brian, and Philip slid down the muddy slope, too. Amelia got up and hugged Sam and his boys. Hell, I felt like hugging those survivalist bastards, too.

Jeanette put her hand on my shoulder and leaned against me. “Thanks, cowboy,” she said. “What do we do now?”

I was reminded of something old Bill Coulter used to say. When you get to where you're going, it's probably time to stop.

“Let's go home,” I said, and after Ray and I gently wrapped Tanya in a sleeping bag and placed her in our truck, that's what we did.

I am writing on my patio beneath the awning attached to my trailer. Beside me on a small round table is a g&t. Before me is the land of the Square C and above me is the big sky of Montana. In short, I am in a perfect spot. Right where I want to be. It is time to be thankful and a time to move past mourning to what lies ahead. It is also a time to recall what happened after the events on Blackie Butte.

I am still cowboying and Jeanette is still my boss. Work never ends on the Square C and, after a few days of dealing with the authorities after the events out there on the Hell Creek Formation, Jeanette, Ray, and I had to bring in our wheat and hay. This we did and continued the life of the rancher through the seasons, the same things every year, only with different problems.

Jeanette is as unchanging as the land. She is still the most competent and courageous woman I've ever known. Yes, I still love her. She knows that, of course. She also knows that Tanya will forever have a place in my heart. Whether she cares about that, or whether she ever intends to express any feelings for me, I don't know. We haven't talked about it. For some reason, I feel content with that.

Ray and Amelia are now preparing to go off to college. Both chose Montana State University in Bozeman. Ray will major in ag business and Amelia in paleontology. They are going to do well. Whether they will end up together, I can't say. They're eager to start their studies and they seem very happy together. I guess, with teenagers, that's the best anyone can ask. Jeanette is going to really miss Ray and so am I. We had a family, whether we knew it or not. I guess we still do only we're getting to be an empty nest, not counting the cows, of course.

Speaking of family, Superdog survived. Cade Morgan winged him in the hip but, though he bled a great deal, he hung onto life until we returned. We opened up the surgery immediately and Jeanette removed the bullet. Ray and I assisted. Soupy is fine now, though I think his hip hurts when there's bad weather on the way. I love that dog. Lucky for old Delbert, he was out on the Mulhaden pasture when Cade and the Russians swept through on the way to Blackie Butte. When Cade said he'd shot Soupy, I didn't think to ask whether he'd also shot Delbert. I guess my excuse is I was a little distracted at the time.

As might be imagined, there was a lot to explain concerning all that happened on Blackie Butte. The Haxbys suggested that we bury all the bodies and bulldoze the helicopter into a coulee, then go about our business. Tempting as that prospect was, Jeanette decided to call in the authorities. This did not prove all that easy. She phoned the state police in Billings and they took it as a crank call. We finally had to get Frank Torgerson to call, explaining that his mortuary had a number of corpses he didn't know what to do with.

The state sent Trooper Philpot, the same youngster who had come up to investigate Toby's murder. He stopped in at the mortuary where Frank showed him the bodies and went over the various wounds. Trooper Philpot instantly decided all this might be above his pay grade, turned around and drove back to Billings and convinced his superiors that the FBI should be called.

The Feds were unimpressed by the call from the Montana State Police but finally deigned to send an agent from Salt Lake City to check all this nonsense out. His name was Agent Tim Conway who reminded me a bit of the comedian of the same name. I met ol' Tim at the mortuary, then drove him out to Blackie Butte. Laura and Pick were still there, guarding the bones of the mama T and patching up the jacketed bones that were damaged in the helicopter crash. Of course, Pick wanted to remove all the dino bones at the first opportunity, but Jeanette insisted that they remain where they were until we got everything settled. I went out and helped Pick and Laura construct a cover for the mama T, which we otherwise left as we found it. Even the skull protruding from the mud was left until it could be carefully moved and jacketed.

With the slow-motion act of the state and the feds, the bones carried away by the helicopter on the first pass had disappeared. We presumed they were put on a truck, which headed for Mexico and crossed the border. Pick says they are almost assuredly lost forever, disappeared into the black market for dinosaur bones or into a private collection.

Agent Conway was impressed by the evidence littering the Blackie Butte site. There were lots of bullet casings, bullet holes, bloody rags, a tent full of various pistols and automatic weapons, and one rather bent UH-1 helicopter. Agent Conway was so impressed he started yelling at everybody and telling us we were all going to prison for a long time if not forever. We stood there and took it for a while, then Jeanette told him to get serious and bring in somebody who knew what they were doing. When Agent Conway continued to yell, she told me to shoot him because the feds had sent us a turkey. I didn't shoot the agent, but I did convince him to shut up and call for reinforcements.

Agent Conway called and a platoon of federal agents from the FBI, ATF, and other acronyms related to the Department of Homeland Security arrived. They marveled over the dead Russian mobsters, and then declared everything was a secret and that no one, and they meant NO ONE, was to find out about this by which they meant the press. We managed that quite well because we didn't want to get in the newspapers or on television and lived in a county where no one wanted it, either. Oh, a few things got out, mainly that Jericho needed a new mayor because the other one had died due to mysterious circumstances. No national news organization picked it up. They don't care, you see, and that's fine with us.

The helicopter's registration proved to be Mexican. Its pilot and co-pilot, presumably working for a shadowy bone collector south of the border, were completely and utterly deceased and therefore unable to testify against their boss. The navy blue paint job on their chopper was, according to my FBI informant, probably for night operations. Unluckily for them, the Haxbys thought it looked black. Black helicopters over eastern Montana. Not a good idea.

The Haxbys are fine even though the feds got a court order to inspect their ranch. Other than their surface-to-air missiles, they owned nothing illegal and opened their bunkers up for inspection. Their remaining missiles, of course, were buried so the Homeland Security folks didn't find them. Still, the feds threatened the Haxbys, told them that there was evidence of a SAM strike on the helicopter, and if they didn't confess, they would be locked up forever or at least until they were executed. The Haxbys said nothing and kept saying it. Nice thing, the Constitution of the United States, which the Haxbys had actually read.

Eventually, the Homeland Security folks claimed the Russian bodies and left. Our attorneys in Billings assured us the investigation was over and we could all go about our business. The state of Montana, however, took note of the bones and sent the state paleontologist to have a look. This he did and recommended a careful removal of them for preparation and protection at the Museum of the Rockies. Jeanette and Pick agreed with this plan and a team from the museum soon arrived. The bones are still in Bozeman, being studied. Pick and Laura went with the bones. Laura called just a week ago and said she had taken a position as a research assistant at the Museum of the Rockies. Pick signed a contract with the museum to help catalog the bones and write a description of them. I think he's found a home but we'll see. The boy does like to travel.

Brian and Philip Marsh, the two Green Planet brothers, were questioned closely by Homeland Security but, for the most part, kept their traps shut. Both swore they had no idea how the helicopter came to blow up. The downed chopper, by the way, seemed to upset the feds more than having dead mobsters littering the BLM, or the greatest paleontological find of all times discovered and nearly destroyed. Since Brian and Phillip haven't written, I've kind of lost track of them. Maybe they joined the Peace Corps and are using their new expertise with shovels and picks to dig wells for remote villages.

The one aspect of all this that surprised Jeanette (but not me, cynic that I am) was that when the survey was done by the BLM, lo and behold, it was found that Blackie Butte was, just as old Ted suspected, on BLM land and therefore the bones all belonged to the federal government. That's now tied up in the courts but I don't expect a good outcome for the Square C. Looks like we're still going to have to work for a living and not live off the sale of old bones. I don't much think Jeanette minds losing the bones or even the money but she wants Blackie Butte back. To get it back, she's got the ear of some state politicians. She's also supporting a couple of new faces for the U.S. Congress. If that doesn't work, she might get some dynamite and just blow the hell out of the damn thing so nobody can have it. Don't ever count Jeanette out when it comes to her land. The powerful environmentalist organizations, their lawyers, and the federal government might consider that as they work to combine the BLM, CMR, Missouri Breaks Monument lands, and private property into a giant swath of buffalo prairie off limits to everybody but themselves. The ranchers aren't going to just step aside into history. They mean to fight. As Bill Coulter used to say, there's things a whole helluva lot worse than being dead and one of 'em is not being free.

Ted Brescoe was found floating in Fort Peck Lake by fishermen. After Edith had killed him, and perhaps recalling how Toby had floated, Cade had dumped Ted with twelve feet of logging chains wrapped around him, but failed to take into account the internal gas bodies tend to produce. The resulting buoyancy bobbed Ted to the surface in just a few days.

Ted and Edith were buried side by side in the Jericho cemetery. The locals thought that was punishment enough for both of them. The BLM had a new man in Ted's position in just a couple of weeks. He's another Brescoe, this one a graduate in land management from the University of Montana. Seems like a nice guy. I heard he bought a round of beer for everybody the other night in the Hell Creek Bar. It's a start.

Cade Morgan's body with the mama T's tooth removed, went with the Russians and is probably in a federal freezer somewhere. His property went up for sale. Joe the bartender told me the buyer was someone from Alabama, but he hasn't shown up yet. Anyway, we expect him to be a good neighbor, whoever he is. After we educate him in our ways, of course.

It is illegal to bury someone on a Montana ranch even with all of our thousands of square miles of prairie. So after I did due diligence in searching out Tanya's family, and finding none, I had her cremated and buried beside the little baby pioneer Nanette Mulhaden. I planted wildflowers around their graves and visit them often. I think Nanette and Tanya will have much to talk about across deep time. Eventually, if I have my way, I'll join them there.

But, for now, here I am on the Square C, the top and only hired hand of the queen of the prairie. I'll finish my g&t and then crawl into my bunk. Or maybe I'll just stay where I am and breathe in the summer aroma of the Square C, which is manure, wildflowers, dust, and fresh-cut hay. When I look up, a ribbon of stars endlessly unwinds, the edge of our galaxy lying on the ebony blanket of the universe. If I watch for only a little while, I'll see a satellite speed across the sky or perhaps a meteor will break into the atmosphere, throwing yellow sparks behind.

A silence envelops the land except for the occasional low moo of one of our cows talking to her calf, or the yip of a passing coyote, and the following snort of Nick catching its scent. The coyote will keep going. It knows Superdog is probably already coming after it.

Now, here come Rage and Fury, finished with their day of mousing and wanting to get some strokes for their labors. I'll happily give them and then surprise them later with some crunchy snacks from a bag of store-bought cat food I've got hidden away. It is always good to keep your cats happy.

I smile, stretch, have another drink of g&t. Life is the way I like it right now. Sure, storms will come. They always do but I'll handle them. That's what we do out here. That's what we expect. That's where we live.

Montana.