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  Deep within the remote Altai Mountains of Mongolia there exists a heinous mystery, one the locals have attempted to keep secret for generations. Now, Harry Olson, an American paleoanthropologist, is in the area excavating for early human fossils. What his team discovers threatens to turn modern scientific knowledge on its head and disrupt the peaceful harmony of the largely superstitious country. It is a discovery so appalling, so sinister, that the lives of the expedition members are at risk from a determined fossil pirate who learns of their discovery and vows to make it his own. Harry and his research team fight to outwit the man who is out kill them and steal their find, but first they must escape the terrible evil they have uncovered...

  KUDOS FOR YETI

  In Yeti by Richard Edde, Harry Olson is a disgraced and troubled scientist on an archeology dig in Mongolia, looking for signs of ancient humans. They uncover bones and teeth (in the wreckage of a Soviet airplane from the late 1960s, of all things), a discovery that starts them on a journey of terror, danger, and death, taking us along with them through the beautiful and rugged country of mountains, steppes, and monasteries, where they inadvertently discover a horror more terrifying and deadly than the wealthy pirate who wants to kill them and steal their find. The book is incredibly interesting, and I learned a lot about both Mongolia and archeology. With a strong plot, lots of action, and plenty of heart-stopping suspense, it’s a hard book to put down once you pick it up. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer

  Yeti by Richard Edde is a fascinating tale, set in the mountains and steppes of Mongolia. Our protagonist, Harry Olson, is in Mongolia digging for ancient human remains. Wanting to recoup both his self-respect and his mentor’s forgiveness after making a disastrous and unethical mistake, Harry is desperately hoping for an important find to cement his reputation. When they discover the remains of a plane crash, he is naturally disappointed--until they find ancient bones and teeth among the wreckage. Little does Harry realize the effect those bones will have on his life, on the lives of his associates and friends, or on science itself. Their quest for the truth takes Harry, his assistant Dixie, and their foreman Li on a hazardous journey into the remote backcountry of Mongolia, where they stumble upon horrors they could never have imagined. Yeti is well written, with a solid plot, a number of smaller subplots, plenty of fast-paced action, and enough edge-of-your-seat tension to keep you turning pages well into the night. ~ Regan Murphy, Reviewer

  Yeti

  Richard Edde

  A Black Opal Books Publication

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2015 by Richard Edde

  Cover Design by Jackson Cover Designs

  All cover art copyright © 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626943-76-6

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  EXCERPT

  This whole expedition had been one case of bad luck after another, and now this. What else could go wrong?

  That night, after the group retired to their sleeping bags, Harry lay awake, sleep not forthcoming. He tossed and turned, long after the others were breathing regularly. His mind was a jumble of thoughts of his mother, the monk, Yetis, and Dixie. And Jing. He had hurt her feelings, he knew. For the rest of the evening, she sat silent, sipping her tea, looking at the stars. The fact that his research had been interrupted by this Yeti business unnerved Harry. It was a distraction to the main purpose of the expedition and his career.

  He wanted dearly to leave this place with enough artifacts to eventually provide material for an earth-shattering scientific paper, one that would redeem his reputation in the professor’s eyes. Was that such a horrible, selfish goal? He was tiring of field work and hoped the Mongolian dig would be the last he would be required to endure. Someday, Professor Kesler would retire and Harry hoped to fill his shoes.

  A monumental discovery would cement his place as heir apparent. And maybe repair their damaged relationship.

  But now, what else would slow his progress, and threaten to derail the research?

  Harry had a distressing premonition that something dreadful was about to happen.

  And when the sun rose in the morning, it had.

  Dixie was missing.

  DEDICATION

  To

  Karin, Greg, Chad, & Danielle

  I saw it today.

  I know now the tales my father

  told around our hearth were true.

  Early in the morning the mist was heavy,

  but it was unmistakable.

  Barely identifiable, but nonetheless real,

  it moved with lumbering precision

  then disappeared into the mist and fog.

  ~ Quang Tre, Mongolian Altai, 1929

  Prologue

  Mongolia 1964:

  The dark Lisunov Li-2 sat perched like a giant insect on the short runway amidst the driving snow and freezing rain. Its somber hulk housed two Shvetsov-Ash engines and the aircraft was alone on the isolated field. Earlier, the day’s gray light had faded into a grim darkness leaving the men in the small Flight Operations Office shivering in their Soviet great coats. An antique oil lamp filled the single room with a soft, yellow glow. The plane’s pilot, bent over the counter, studying an aeronautical chart while his copilot, at the end of the counter, spoke softly into a telephone.

  It had taken some doing to find this small landing strip in the middle of the Mongolian steppe, far from any known civilization. There were no radio beacons by which to navigate, and it was only by luck that the pilots had spotted the field at the last moment. Now, a winter storm ravaged the steppe, making their upcoming flight a perilous one. The maintenance crew sprayed the Lisunov’s wings with de-icing foam in preparation for take-off as soon as the men inside the small shack completed their work.

  Engaged in their duties, the pilots did not see the headlights of the Soviet vehicle approach the office. The copilot hung up the phone, stood next to his superior, and pointed at the chart. The office door opened, ushering in a blast of frigid air, and the pilots turned as two men in similar uniforms tramped into the office and shook the snow off their coats. After exchanging salutes, they addressed the pilots with heavy Russian accents.

  “Your cargo is in the jeep, Major. Are you about ready?”

  “Just about, Sergeant. A few last minute details.”

  “What’s this all about, sir?” the other enlisted man said.

  The pilot shook his head. “Sorry, state secret.”

  “What is in the box?” the sergeant said.

  “That I can answer. I have no earthly idea.”

  The two enlisted men turned and tramped toward the door.

  “We’ll get it loaded for you, Major, so you can be on your way.”

  The copilot followed the men out of the office into the blizzard and led them to the large, solitary aircraft.

  Inside the Li-2 the pilot made his way to the cockpit while the three men secured the wooden box, which was the size of a footlocker, in the cargo bay. Once they had the box strapped down, the enlisted men waved and crawled out of the plane. The copilot closed and latched the door then settled into his seat next to the major. He retrieved the checklist and began reciting.

  The pair quickly ran through the Before Start list, which included the batteries, magnetos, lights, throttles, trims, and instruments.

  “Did you unplug the oil heaters?” the major said.

  “Yes, sir, just
before our preflight.”

  “Good. This weather is going to be a bitch. Icing is going to be a constant worry. Ever flown is weather like this?”

  “Never this bad at night. I was copilot on a flight over the Urals in a snowstorm a few years ago. That was more than enough excitement.”

  “Well,” the major said, pulling on his leather aviator cap, “you are liable to age a few years tonight.”

  The copilot smiled briefly and, without looking at the major, said, “I feel comfortable with you at the controls, sir.”

  “Let’s continue then and get this baby airborne.”

  The copilot ran his finger down the checklist. “Right engine, start,” he said.

  “Check,” returned the major.

  “Battery master.”

  “On.”

  “Right boost pump.”

  “On.”

  “Right starter.”

  “Engaged.”

  “Right propeller.”

  “Blades correct.”

  “Right engine mixture.”

  “Auto rich.”

  “Right engine magnetos.”

  “Both.”

  “Right throttle.”

  “Advance slightly.”

  “Right engine primer.”

  “On.”

  “Right engine starter.”

  “Off.”

  The pair ran through the same checklist for the left engine. The snowfall had lessened but the wind continued to beat against the plane’s fuselage. It creaked and groaned. When the pilot actuated the primer switch, the right engine propeller started turning slowly, then, with a loud explosion, the engine started and its RPMs began increasing. When the left engine was similarly started, the aircraft rocked heavily on the runway.

  Both men studied the instrument panel while the major pushed the throttle forward until the RPMs reached 1700. Satisfied with the run-up, the pilot eased off the brake and the Lisunov slowly rambled to the end of the runway. When the plane was positioned for takeoff, both men stared into the dark night ahead. Large snowflakes beat against the windshield and not a star was seen in the densely overcast sky.

  Airborne, the aircraft, buffeted by the wind, banked in a long turn to the northeast and locked into a great circular route toward Moscow. The slow climb through the clouds was bumpy, but soon the plane punched through the storm and into clear stable air. The major and his lieutenant copilot settled into their seats and began checking their flight plan.

  “Where is our refueling stop, Major?” the lieutenant said.

  “Camp Zulu on the West Siberian Plain,” answered the pilot as he feathered the Lisunov’s powerful motors. “You can find it on the chart. It’s halfway to Moscow.”

  “Aren’t you curious as to what we are ferrying to the Kremlin, sir?”

  “Lieutenant, I have learned over the years to keep my thoughts to myself. I once flew for the Air Defense Force and our mission was to shoot down US planes if they entered our airspace. Quite an elite group of men. But I questioned an order back in ‘61 and now look at me--flying a taxi service for the KGB and during a blizzard, no less. Our KGB friends don’t take kindly to questions. No, take my advice--keep your mouth shut and follow orders.”

  “I hope one day to fly for the Air Defense Force but my wife does not like my flying. She says it is too dangerous.”

  “My friend, on nights like tonight, she is right.”

  “But I still cannot help but wonder what is so important that we must fly in this weather. That it could not wait a couple of days.”

  “I’m sure it has something to do with national defense.”

  “Must be damn important,” said the copilot.

  The plane droned on through the night and, after a snack of coffee and sandwiches, the lieutenant spelled his superior at the controls.

  Then the drone of the engines changed.

  Not a large change but to the experienced ears of the pilot it was enough to cause him to notice. He scanned the instrument panel.

  “RPMs on both engines are down,” he said. “Take a look out your window.”

  Both men glanced at their motors, which seemed to be functioning perfectly in the winter air.

  “Wing looks okay as well,” said the copilot.

  “I’m switching on carb heat,” the major said. He flipped a switch on the panel and continued to watch the tachometers.

  “RPMs still dropping a little, sir,” the copilot said.

  The pilot pushed the throttle forward, but there was no response in the RPMs. A glance at the altimeter revealed they had dropped five hundred feet.

  “We may have some carburetor icing,” he said. “Need to get lower.”

  “But sir,” the copilot said, voice quivering, “the Altai are just ahead. We have to get over them.”

  “I don’t think we can make it, Lieutenant. If we keep icing up, this plane won’t fly at all. I think we should turn around.”

  By this time, the engines were definitely turning at much lower RPMs and the Lisunov was losing altitude at a rapid rate. The pilot began a slow bank to the southwest. Suddenly the stall warning alarm began beeping. He pushed the nose down for more airspeed. Added more throttle.

  But there was no additional power.

  The wings shuddered violently as the airfoil was interrupted and the plane quit flying.

  “I’m flipping on the landing lights,” said the pilot over the engine noise. Maybe we can find a place to glide this thing down.”

  Passing through the cloudbank created a zero visibility situation. The major shot a glance at the instruments. They were in a sharp bank and nose-down attitude.

  “Pull up!” shouted the copilot.

  The pilot fought the yoke in a vain attempt to right the aircraft and get it flying again.

  It was no use.

  The physics of carburetor ice, combined with the dynamics of drag and lift, produced a tragedy that frigid winter night. The Lisunov Li-2 never made it out of Mongolia. When the plane crashed somewhere in the Altai Mountains, its secret cargo was buried with it.

  The Kremlin wisely never attempted to locate it.

  Chapter 1

  Mongolia, Present Day:

  Even the crisp mountain air could not temper the blood boiling in Harry Olson’s veins. His patience dissipated, Harry let his ire spew forth like mad hornets. Standing before him was Li Chao and Harry pointed a dirty finger at a map overlaid with dark lines forming squares, each identified by a number.

  “How many times, Li, do I have to repeat myself? You have to do the digging systematically and not skip over a section. You know that.”

  Harry, affectionately known as Harry O--after the 1970s television program of the same name--to most members of the expedition, was finding it difficult to keep his temper in check.

  Li Chao was the expedition’s guide and foreman of the Mongolian workers who were spread out over the lower side of the mountain. Short in stature by Mongolian standards, he had large dark eyes and hair that hung straight over his ears. He shifted his weight and stared at the map as Harry continue his tirade.

  “Understand, Li?” Harry waited for the man’s nod before finishing. “So please, let’s try to do better. I need your help in this. All right, let’s get back to work.”

  Dismissed, Li turned and strolled back to the group of workers bent over their tools. Harry folded the map and made his way to the expedition’s command tent, dug a bottle of water out of a box, and collapsed into a canvas chair. His breathing slowly returned to normal, the air hunger brought on by the elevation and his momentary outburst at Li Chao.

  Harry’s tall frame didn’t fit the small chair. Rubbing his temples, he tried to ease the pounding in his head, a head covered with dirty-blonde hair that receded at the temples. Since he had arrived at the expedition site, its high elevation had interfered with his normal sleep, leaving him with a constant headache. Soon, he hoped, he would acclimate to Mongolia’s steppes. It had taken several weeks to get the compo
und organized and, as site foreman, Li had excellent credentials, but Harry couldn’t tolerate shortcuts as had just occurred. It would place the whole expedition’s discoveries, if any were found, at risk. He set the water on a large table in the tent’s center as Dixie Zinn, his graduate assistant, entered.

  “What was that all about,” she said, brushing a lock of brown hair from her face.

  “I was just telling Li, once again, how important it is to follow the map section by section and not skip over one. It puts the entire dig at risk if he allows that kind of mistake to happen. He should know better, Dixie.” Harry took the map out of his pocket and spread it out on the table.

  “I think he knows. Between overseeing the workers and keeping us all provisioned, he’s got too much on his plate, that’s all. I wouldn’t be too hard on him. Li does a good job.” Dixie leaned over the map and squinted. “Which sector did he overlook?”

  “Right here,” Harry said, pointing. “G2. I sent him back out to get a few people over there now.”

  “You’re not thinking it was a mistake bringing him on the expedition? He had good references and he supposedly knows this area well. He guided us here without any difficulties. Remember?”

  “Of course. He has worked several digs in this general area of Mongolia where the teams were searching for hominid fossils, as we are. He seems familiar with the routine. Besides, he speaks English, which helps, since most of the workers only know Mongolian or some Russian.”

  “More people speak English in the capital, but you’re right--out here, not many. Like I said, however, I think he does a good job. It would be hard to replace him if he quit.” Dixie looked out the tent’s door at the Altai Mountains with their snow-capped peaks in the distant haze. “Would you be offended if I offered a suggestion, Doctor Olson?”