Little intelligence, but plenty of clout. That's the conclusion that Don was rapidly coming to in reference to Dr. Harrison Marker. Certainly Area Director D'Angelo couldn't have gotten all those choppers into the air on a moment's notice, filled with FBI agents armed not with guns but with isolation gear. Even Robin Arthur herself was wearing heavy clothing against the cold of the mountain night, flying into action alongside Special Agent Eppes.
"You do this often?" she shouted over the roar of the chopper blades whirling above them. Los Angeles was being fast left behind, the multitude of cars small bright dots moving in lines like ants toward a picnic.
"What?" Don couldn't hear.
"You do this often?"
"Not very. Usually I'm on the ground. You?"
"First time. I'm usually in a lab. Don't think I like this."
Normally, Don did. But not like this. Not going out on a search for his brother, lost on a mountain top with autumn zooming in with below freezing temperatures at night. This bird was filled with isolation equipment and hypothermia gear. Another chopper, he knew, flying alongside was armed with heat detection devices courtesy of the military base outside of El Toro. Marker was an ass, but he knew people and he knew how to beg, borrow, and steal. That was the sole reason that Robin hadn't bothered to let Marker make a completefool of himself to his own superiors. Let Marker do the lunches, the toadying, and leave Robin Arthur to the more interesting medical aspect of things.
Robin tugged at his sleeve. "We don't have to jump out of this thing, do we?"
"No." Don hoped not. It had been years since he'd jumped a 'chute, and the silks in this bird were not ones that he'd packed himself. No, the pilot was radioing on ahead, making arrangements to clear out the police station parking lot where there was room to set a chopper down on a flat surface. Only room for one at a time; each one would drop off its cargo of FBI search teams and then take off for the aerial part of the survey, night-scanning equipment in full use.
The landing went smoothly. Don guided Robin out from under, the rest of the crew off-loading her equipment. The chopper took off, making room for the other chopper to drop off their human cargo.
"You in charge?" The speaker was the chief of police, a fresh-faced kid who looked too young for his position, standing next to a Rover marked with an official decal. The embroidery on his shirt said Tyler.
"Special Agent Don Eppes. Dr. Robin Arthur." Don stuck out his hand. "Yes, this is my operation. You've kept your people off of the mountain?"
"Yeah, but we're just a tad curious as to what you've got going on up there, Special Agent Eppes. You had a drug plane go down up there?"
"Worse, and you don't want to know how bad, Chief Tyler. It's national security stuff. Do you have dogs for tracking through these mountains?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of?" Don raised his eyebrows. The last thing he wanted was difficulty with the locals. An all out disaster could follow. No, the last thing I want is a dead brother, but difficulties would run that a close second.
"They're dogs, and they're hunting dogs. They're not rescue dogs, but we use 'em when we need 'em. Joss Tyler's hound's been pretty good. Got three little girls off of the peak just this summer."
"We need them." Don wanted all the help he could get. The choppers could miss something. Charlie's body temperature could be so low that he wouldn't register on any of the aerial heat scanning equipment. He could be stuck inside some cave somewhere.
"You may not," the police chief warned. "They won't hunt for you. Either me or Joss will need to tag along."
"No," said Dr. Arthur in no uncertain terms. "Unacceptable risk. This is dangerous."
Tyler shrugged. "Your choice, ma'am. We've tried him before; the hound won't put out for anyone but family." He tried for some accommodation. "I've got a bullet proof vest, if that would help. Little dusty; we don't get many drug dealers up this way. Little off the beaten track."
Set back. Decision time. "You're in," Don said. "Sorry, Robin. We'll have to do the best we can." He looked at the name on the police chief's shirt again. "Your brother's dog?"
"Twin brother." The police chief stuck out his hand. "Joe Tyler. Grew up around here. I can probably help you look. What does this guy look like?"
Don described Charlie. "He's my brother," he added.
Tyler gave Don a sideways look. "All this, 'cause he's your brother? Not a drug lord?" Misuse of my tax dollars? The rest of us gotta wait twenty-four hours for missing persons stuff.
"No," Robin inserted, "all of this because he may be carrying a deadly infection. As Special Agent Eppes said, this is national security. Use your dog, Chief Tyler, but don't get close to the victim under any circumstances. And don't let any of your people know. We'd like to keep this as quiet as possible." Don threw a glare in her direction, but Robin held her own. He deserves to know what he's getting into, Special Agent Eppes, if he's going to be with us. If he's going to be the one to find Charlie.
"My brother's dog going to be okay?"
"Yes," was Robin's quick reply. "This infection can't harm dogs. You, however, will be at risk. If the dog spots him, keep back and let me handle the victim. Don't approach, no matter what."
"Even if he's on the ground?"
"Especially if he's on the ground."
Tyler nodded. "You're on, doc. Let me get Belker. He's ready to go."
"Belker?" That name struck a familiar chord for Don.
Tyler grinned. "Yeah. You remember that show, Hill Street Blues? The one with a grungy looking cop who was always calling people 'dog breath'?"
Don got it. "Cop's name was Belker."
"Only seems fair. Oh, and I sent one of my people after your friend in the motel. There they are," he said, watching the police vehicle swerve into the parking lot, shutting down its lights.
If the situation weren't so serious, Don would have laughed. Belker the dog bounded out of Tyler's police vehicle. Dr. Larry Fleinhardt approached the FBI team at the same moment. The two met, and it was dirt at first sight. Belker reared up on his hind paws, placed his front paws on Dr. Fleinhardt's shoulders, and licked Dr. Fleinhardt's face with all the loving doggy breath he could muster. The bloodhound towered over the physics professor.
Belker, however, miscalculated. Belker was used to rough-housing with large human males weighing in at two hundred pounds or more. Belker was used to tracking bears.
Dr. Fleinhardt went down.
To make up for it, Belker insisted on riding up to the mountain way station in the same car as Larry with his head on Larry's lap and big soulful brown eyes fastened on the physics professor.
"Are you certain that this creature won't bite?" Dr. Fleinhardt was less than enthused with the dog's new devotion.
"Oh, he bites plenty, Dr. Fleinhardt," Tyler grinned from behind the wheel, taking a curve a bit too fast for conditions and not caring one whit. "Chicken bits, rawhide bones, foxes… I think my brother said he went after a wolf the other day, all on his own."
"Delightful." Larry tried to squirm into a smaller corner. Belker merely adjusted his head and licked his lips. And nosed into an area of flesh that Dr. Fleinhardt was quite fond of. "The right hand turn, if you please. We should be there soon. Very soon," he added, with more hope than accuracy.
They found the car right where Larry had said that it would be, parked in the lot beside the unmanned tourist station. The station looked vaguely threatening in the dark, no lights but what they had brought with them. There was the requisite outhouse toward the back, and a plexiglass covered map screwed into a large log frame with trails marked in red showing hikers which routes would be ideal for their purposes. There was even a trash can.
"Keys," David requested. Larry handed the second set over, and David headed for Larry's car, peering into the interior and then moving toward the trunk. He opened the trunk, using his flash to illuminate the interior. "Empty," he reported.
"No equipment." Don wasn't happy. "That means that Charlie never came back to the car. Tyler, you said there are bears up here?"
"Yeah, but around here they tend to shy away from humans. We both ascribe to the 'separate but equal' school of thought. More likely your guy tripped and fell somewhere. You people from the shore, sea-level air, that sort of thing. There are a lot of deep crevasses as you get up toward the top, and not easy to see in the dark, and the high altitude can get to people who aren't used to the thin air. I've got more lanterns if your people need them."
"Thanks. I'll take you up on that."
"I brought trauma equipment," Robin murmured into Don's ear. "This may be a simple accident. He may not have been infected."
"We can only hope." Don raised his voice. "Larry, where did you guys plant your star-gazing stuff?"
"This one," Larry pointed out, touching one of the straighter paths. "I needed to get my equipment up as high as possible so as to avoid the light pollution caused by excessive photonic radiation from Los Angeles. Take this path, and it will lead you to where we set up the site." He turned to Don. "Do you think he's up there?"
"Best chance we've got," Don returned stoutly. "How about you stay with the car? It's cold up here, and you're getting over the flu. Robin, can we spare a blanket for him?"
"Not a problem, Don. I brought plenty."
"I know where the equipment is on the mountainside," Larry objected. "You need me to show you where it is."
"You go off the trail when you planted it?" Tyler asked.
"A negligible distance. It should be clearly visible with artificial illumination once you've traversed some fifty yards above the tree line along the path that I indicated. It's metallic; the light will reflect brightly."
"Then you don't need to be traipsing out in the cold, professor," Tyler said kindly.
"But—"
"You wanna hold Belker's leash as we trek uphill?" Tyler asked. "He likes you."
That did it. Larry smiled a tight little smile. "Perhaps you're right. I'll wait inside the vehicle for your return. You'll keep me appraised, Don?"
"You'll hear about Charlie as soon as we know anything," Don promised, relieved. One less civilian to be worrying about. One less genius-size mind to potentially lose to this terrorist bug. Hm. Any way to get this Tyler fellow into the FBI? He seems better than me at handling eccentric geniuses.
They headed out, Belker leading Police Chief Tyler on the leash, Don and the others trailing behind and carrying flashlights and backpacks filled with survival and isolation gear. Two other teams were behind them, spreading out.
It was cold. It was only autumn, but the mountain elevation caused a drop in temperature worthy of winter at its worst. Here and there a small gathering of water, caught in a rut made by hiking boots along the trail, had already succumbed to icy temptation. With a little more enthusiasm, any of the small icelets could expand into a skating rink. And me without my ice skates, Don thought grimly, huddling into his heavy coat. Charlie's out in this. The kid better have worn his own heavy jacket, which brought back memories of Mom yelling at Charlie when the nine year old would leave the house without it. Miss you, Mom. All of us do.
The trees got more scanty, turning more into scrub than an honest tree. Belker snuffled along the ground, confirming that Charlie had walked up this path, occasionally lifting his doggy head to test the air above the ground. Once he swiveled around, longing to take off after a small furry thing, but Tyler gave the leash a tug. "You're on duty, Belker. Keep at it." With a disappointed sneeze, Belker bent his bloodhound nose back to the forest floor.
The dog led them to a stretch of open ground. Don played his flash over the site, looking for equipment: nothing. But there were tracks and scuff marks in the hard soil, and Belker whuffled around enough to let them know that this was indeed the site that Larry had pointed them toward.
"He was here," Tyler said unnecessarily, giving the dog's ears a caress as a reward.
"The equipment's gone," David noted. "That means that Charlie was here, and cleaned it up. Where did he go after that?"
"We keep looking," Don replied. "What's over there?"
'Over there' was a deep crevasse. Don's heart clenched as he shone his light down into the depths. If his brother had fallen into that, there would be no way that they would do anything more than pull out a lifeless body. And the way Belker was sniffing at the edge…
"What's that?" Megan asked suddenly.
"What?" Horrifying absence of heart beat.
"I see something."
No, you don't! No, you don't!
"Shine your flash on it, David," Megan directed. "It's caught on the cliff wall, about ten feet down. Over there; no, a little to the left. See it?"
"Backpack." David identified the item. "Charlie's?"
Don looked. No bodies there. Hope could still creep around the edges of the situation. "I don't know," he had to admit. "It could be."
"It looks fresh," Tyler said. "Good chance it could be his." He swung down his own pack off of his shoulders and pulled out a long length of rope.
"What are you doing?"
"Going to fetch it. I'm assuming he'll want it back. And it'll give me a chance to take a look a little deeper, in case your brother fell in."
"I'll do it," Don felt obliged to say.
"You're welcome to it. Never had a head for heights." Tyler handed the rope to Don.
"Look carefully as you go down," Robin directed. "We'll shine our lights below you, see if there's anything down below."
This was it. A golden opportunity to find Charlie Eppes broken over a bunch of rocks in a crevice on a mountain, his corpse home to a lot of mutated bacteria so that it would have to be cremated for public safety. Don wrapped the rope around his waist, snugging it tight. He handed the end back to Tyler, who tied it off to a boulder. The trees in the area weren't sturdy enough to hold him. The rest of his team grabbed on, ready to lower Don into the crevasse.
Don took a deep breath, and jumped over the edge. He swung wide, and banged against the cliff wall before he could get his feet under himself to 'walk' down the wall. It didn't take long, with only another moment to maneuver himself to where the backpack hung from a root masquerading as a branch sticking out of the cliff wall. Don grabbed the pack, slinging it over his shoulders for ease of carrying. Then he swung his flash down toward the bottom of the crevice.
Nothing. Rocks. Boulders. No bodies.
No bodies.
Don swung the light back and forth, barely able to believe the luck. No Charlie, broken and bloodied at the bottom. Not even any coyotes tearing at dead flesh, scavengers cleaning up after an accident of monumental proportions.
"Pull me up," he called hoarsely.
"Don?"
"Pull me up. He's not down there. Just the pack." With the cell phone flashing, the envelope picture insisting that there were many messages from a concerned FBI agent.
Where was his brother? Staggering down the mountainside, succumbing to the bitter cold? Horrible scenes floated through Don's mind:
Charlie Eppes was twenty-one percent exhausted, thirty-six percent cold, and forty-three percent thirsty. Just estimates, mind you. Numbers were his life and, moving toward the end of life, he decided, they would be his friend once last time. Some people had their life flash before their eyes; Charlie was well-satisfied that equations took their place. Probabilities: ninety five percent chance of death within the hour from exposure and thirst. How could he be so thirsty? He'd drained the water bottle just a couple of hours ago. Must have sweated it out with fever. He felt hot, then cold, then hot…damn, couldn't keep up with how he felt. Charlie settled for feeling one hundred percent miserable.
Not supposed to happen. Chances of a mild-mannered math professor dying on a mountain top just a hour or two away from civilization from a terrorist bio-attack? At least thirty six thousand to one. Always that one chance that gets you.
Tree over there, pretty big with a hole toward the bottom that would ward off most of any breeze that came by. Too bad it was so damn cold outside. Probably something like twenty seven degrees Farenheit, converted to Celsius was…
Charlie closed his eyes. The numbers would come.