Yeti Unleashed Page 9

  He mulled over what he knew. Someone had been killed, that seemed certain. And the report was that something had happened to the Yeti. Had they died? Killed? What could account for the two reports? There could have been an explosion that took out most of the facility. An epidemic of some disease that spread like wildfire through the animals then jumped into a human, causing death. Food poisoning? Doubtful. A virus? Possibly. A bacteria that infected the animal feed? Maybe. If the Yeti were dead, there would need to be a post-mortem on each of them. The veterinarian could perform that task. He realized he was getting ahead of himself so he tried to block the reeling thoughts and concentrate on his driving.

  The airport exit loomed ahead as Dixie spoke.

  “What?” he said, steering the car onto the off ramp.

  “I said what could have happened up there? Any ideas?”

  Her face was taut, her eyes mere slits. She was feeling the stress as well, Harry thought. “Other than some deadly disease or epidemic, I haven’t a clue,” he said. “They were isolated up there. They took protocol seriously. They did everything by the book. At least that is what we were led to believe. Is it possible they didn’t? I didn’t look over their shoulders very closely. Could I be at fault, honey?”

  “Have they been working with a strain of virus we know nothing about?” Dixie said.

  “Don’t know, but I doubt it,” Harry said. He passed several cars and honked at a truck until it swerved out of his way.

  Harry followed the signs directing him to the air national guard hanger. Closer, he saw a UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter on the tarmac with several uniformed troops milling about it.

  “I feel responsible,” he said. “I’m the departmental chairman.”

  “That’s plain silly, honey,” Dixie said. “There is no way you are culpable. If anything, Dr. Radner, as director, carries the bulk of the responsibility for the facility. Not you.”

  “That’s reassuring. I just hope Pauling and the trustees feel as you do.”

  At the flight operations center, Harry parked the car and carried their bags inside. A major with a funny name glanced at their IDs then escorted them onto the tarmac and the waiting chopper and introduced them to the pilot and copilot.

  They climbed aboard, strapped themselves into their seats, donned a helmet, and waited as the engine fired up and the rotors began moving.

  Harry’s pulse raced. He shot a weak smile at Dixie in an attempt to reassure her. She looked a fright.

  Soon they were airborne, banking hard to the northeast toward Nevada. The five-hundred-mile trip, Harry estimated, would take close to three hours. The Blackhawk shot toward Cinder Mountain, and Harry attempted to relax the aching muscles in his neck. He reached out, took Dixie’s hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  What would be waiting for them at the Primate Research Facility?

  Chapter 9

  In a small unpretentious office tucked away in the middle of San Francisco’s Embarcadero, a group of men and women labored quietly. Several tables were stacked with markers and pasteboards. They murmured among themselves and, while they constructed their signs and banners, they waited patiently for their leader to arrive and begin the meeting. Most of the room’s occupants were young, under forty, but there were several older adults who had joined the group in the past weeks. They were opposed to using animals in scientific research and called themselves the Federation Against Animal Research. Not novel but descriptive.

  The office door opened, ushering in a flood of bright sunlight followed by a tall woman in her thirties who wore denim jeans and a sweatshirt. Her dirty blonde hair fell in soft curls about her oval face and a beaded necklace drooped around her neck. She made her way to the front of the crowded room and smiled. All eyes turned toward her.

  “We are here,” she began, “because all of us love animals. We believe in an animal’s inherent worth. Supporters of animal rights believe that animals have an inherent worth--a value completely separate from their usefulness to humans. We believe that every creature with a will to live has a right to live free from pain and suffering. Animal rights is not just a philosophy, it is a social movement that challenges society’s traditional view that all nonhuman animals exist solely for human use. As our founder has said, ‘When it comes to pain, love, joy, loneliness, and fear, a rat is a pig is a dog is a boy. Each one values his or her life and fights the knife.’

  “Only prejudice allows us to deny others the rights that we expect to have for ourselves. Whether it’s based on race, gender, sexual orientation, or species, prejudice is morally unacceptable. If you wouldn’t eat a dog, why eat a pig? Dogs and pigs have the same capacity to feel pain, but it is prejudice based on species that allows us to think of one animal as a companion and the other as dinner.

  “FAAR has become a model for other humane organizations throughout our country. Since then, hundreds of laws have been enacted on the federal, state, and local levels, providing protections to many species of animals. Today, FAAR carries on our founder’s mission to better protect animals and provide for their wellbeing by establishing public policy through the legislative process, citizen initiatives, and consumer education campaigns. We also offer advocacy training and support for citizens who wish to engage in grassroots lobbying. Stay informed and get involved--politics is not a spectator sport!”

  Thunderous applause erupted at the conclusion of the woman’s speech. The room’s occupants nodded and whooped for a few minutes, luxuriating in the glory of the moment. When the cacophony dwindled, the woman held up a hand.

  “All right, folks,” she said. “I have some news.”

  Men and women gathered around the woman and waited.

  “Our demonstrations at Cal Pacific have been well-attended and have received good media coverage. I was pleased to see the television cameras there yesterday. We made the news.” She paused and allowed the resulting buzz to quiet before continuing. “Yes, I know we are all excited about that. In fact, it gained us a few new members, and so I suggest we double our efforts and organize a demonstration at Stanford. I will need some volunteers to get that underway.”

  More chatting.

  “I am considering a demonstration at Cal Pacific’s Primate Research Facility, as that is where they have housed their famed Yeti brought here from Mongolia. There is no telling what they do to those poor creatures. The sooner we get up there and begin applying pressure the better it will be for them.”

  A member of the group raised her hand. “Miss Treadwell,” she said, “I am happy to volunteer. We can use my car to drive to the Nevada site.”

  “Fine, Vickie, fine,” Norma Treadwell said. “Let me know when you have a group together, and we’ll coordinate plans. Let’s do it fairly soon, okay?”

  When the meeting ended, Norma Treadwell remained behind and sat at a steel desk, alone, thinking. This local chapter of the Federation Against Animal Research was her brainchild, borne from a frustration she encountered as secretary for United Cause, a lobbying group for the humane treatment of laboratory animals. When she realized that the group solicited donations but didn’t do anything of a positive nature to insure correct treatment of the animals, she decided to form her own, proactive organization and the local chapter was birthed. The only way, in her opinion, to ensure that laboratory animals were humanely treated was to eliminate animal research altogether. It was fortunate that her husband didn’t care how she spent her time. In fact, he didn’t care, period. The man was married to his job.

  So, FAAR became her overriding passion. She labored tirelessly, organizing demonstrations and rallies, in an effort to catalyze public support and media interest. The going had been slow. The public favored animal research. There are so many universities in the state that did research. She had much work to do.

  ***

  Harry helped Dixie off the Blackhawk helicopter and the pair scooted under the whirling rotors to a waiting Dr. Radner and Bruce Drayton who led them into the lobby of the main building. An E
lko County Sheriff’s Department car was parked near its entrance. As soon as they were out of the heat and bright sun, Harry started with the questions. It looked as if a tornado had hit the lobby.

  “What happened here, Miles?” Harry demanded, concern filling his mind.

  “Tragedy, Doctor, a complete and utter tragedy. Follow me to the Animal Care Unit.”

  Harry and Dixie followed Radner through a series of hallways, and Harry watched the research facility staff scurry about, chattering in wild tones.

  “We heard someone was killed,” Dixie said, trailing behind Harry and Radner.

  Radner acted like he hadn’t heard Dixie but kept hurrying, finally stopping at the first air lock. Before pushing the button to open the door, he turned toward Harry. “Don’t touch anything,” he said. “The sheriff hasn’t finished.”

  When Harry nodded, Radner opened the air lock and the three of them entered and waited for the door to slide closed behind them.

  “No need to bother scrubbing,” Radner said and he opened the air lock door into the Animal Care Unit. The cold air hit Harry in the face like a fast-moving cold front.

  The scene inside the unit was surreal. There was splattered blood everywhere. Both cage doors stood open and the Yeti were gone. The body of a man was askew on the floor, his limbs mangled, his face a mass of gore, and he lay in a large pool of dried, dark blood. Two men in khaki sheriff’s uniforms were in the unit, one bent over the body, the other took photographs. Papers and equipment were scattered in disarray throughout the unit. Harry’s stomach revolted and he pushed down the urge to vomit.

  “Oh my god,” exclaimed Dixie in a low groan. “What in god’s name happened here?”

  The man bent over the dead body looked up then stood. Dr. Radner stepped around an overturned stool.

  “Sheriff Calder, this is our departmental chairman, Dr. Harry Olson and his wife, also Dr. Olson.”

  Harry shook hands with Calder and Dixie smiled faintly at the man. Harry pointed to the body. “Who?”

  “Jimmy Winkleman,” Radner said, shaking his head. “So sad. I’m going to have to call his folks.”

  “Yes,” Dixie said. “I remember him from our previous trip.”

  “What happened in here?” Harry asked. “The place looks like a bomb went off.”

  His stomach reeled. The strong smell of iron permeated the unit, making his nausea even worse. His body felt light, as if floating, his head spinning. It was like the time he was coming out from under anesthesia after his appendectomy when he was in high school. He floated on a cloud, half-conscious of this world, half not.

  Now, he had trouble concentrating on the scene. Instead, he listened to the rustle of his pants as he crossed the room. He noticed a young woman huddled in a far corner.

  Radner shook his head, walked over to a cage door, looked in, then turned. “As best as we can determine, Winkleman opened the cage door without the male Yeti being sedated. Don’t know why he would do that. But the Yeti must have attacked him, killed him. Pretty brutal.”

  “But both cage doors are open,” Dixie said. How--”

  “Impossible to say,” Sheriff Calder interjected. He stood to his full height, next to Dixie.

  Harry ambled to the open door of the cage that had housed Bentu and gazed into its interior. “Why--why would he open the door without the animal being sedated?” he asked. “Isn’t that against policy? And shouldn’t he have known better?”

  “He’s dead,” Radner said. “He can’t tell us why.”

  The woman in the corner stepped forward. Harry saw she wore a lab coat and looked familiar.

  “Yes, Millie?” Radner said.

  “I--I--may--know why,” she said, as if nervous.

  “Sheriff, this is Millie Harbaum, our other graduate research assistant.”

  Harry tried to smile, now able to concentrate. “Millie, Dr. Olson. Remember me?”

  She nodded, her eyes darting around the unit.

  “Good. Now why would Jimmy open the cage door without first sedating the Yeti? Hardly normal procedure, right?”

  “He knew better, of course. Jimmy--Jimmy was a jerk,” Millie said, wringing her hands in front go her. “He always said Bentu wasn’t aggressive, even though I tried to tell him otherwise. I’d seen Bentu stand at the front of his cage and rattle it for over an hour. I had a feeling that Bentu was unpredictable, more so than Sasha, my Yeti. These are huge wild animals. But Jimmy thought he knew best, so this morning he opened the cage himself and went in to feed Bentu, leaving the door open behind him. Usually the technicians feed the animals but this morning Jimmy was intent on feeding Bentu. I told him not to do it, sir.”

  “I see,” Harry said.

  “My God!” Radner exclaimed, slamming an open hand on a nearby counter.

  “Hold it, Miles,” Harry said. “Please continue, Millie.”

  “These Yeti aren’t dumb, Dr. Olson. Bentu saw the open door. He attacked Jimmy, nearly ripping his head off, and got out of his cage. I screamed, fearing Bentu would come for me. Jimmy was dazed but he managed to get up and follow Bentu out here. The two struggled again, this time Bentu hurt Jimmy bad, and he just slumped to the floor. I was terrified so I ran out of the unit. I think Jimmy was trying to get Bentu back into his cage. Somehow Bentu must have unlocked Sasha’s cage and the two of them escaped the Animal Care Unit.”

  “Where are they now?” Harry asked.

  “Don’t know, Doctor,” Calder said.

  “You called them Bentu and Sasha,” Dixie said.

  “The names Jimmy and I gave them,” Millie said. “I actually thought Sasha, and I were bonding but, the way Jimmy treated Bentu, I knew it would never happen with them.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Radner said. He stood in the unit in his shirtsleeves, his tie loose around his neck.

  Millie shot an awkward glance at Harry and Dixie before answering. “Well...” she began slowly. “Jimmy was always real gruff with Bentu, talked in a mean voice or shouted. He didn’t handle the animal with gentle hands when drawing the blood specimens. He sometimes would beat on the cage, teasing Bentu, an act I thought unprofessional. In fact, I never understood why he chose this line of work. When he would pound the cage, I asked him to stop but he didn’t. And Bentu acted real agitated when Jimmy did that. The Yeti would pace around his cage and rattle the bars, growling at Jimmy. Sometimes Bentu would stare through the bars, just stare. I didn’t like it.”

  “You mean Jimmy intentionally provoked the Yeti?” Harry said.

  Millie nodded. “I don’t know why he was here, I mean with the way he treated Bentu. I came back here often before going to bed just to check on them.”

  “Why didn’t you report him, Millie?” Radner asked. He was obviously dismayed to hear her story.

  “Dr. Radner, Jimmy was weird, and I was somewhat afraid of him. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand,” Harry said, reaching out and to pat her on the shoulder.

  Sheriff Calder finished writing in a notebook and put it in his shirt pocket. “Doctors,” he said, “we need to talk. Is there somewhere we can go? I’ll want your security chief and the veterinarian present as well.”

  “Yes,” Radner said. “We can talk in the conference room adjacent to my office. Follow me. I’ll have my secretary find Drayton and Dr. Siscom.”

  ***

  Dr. Bernard Wickingham sat in his office and fumed. He had just come from the paleontology lab where he was forced to work in a corner that was used by students. Students! Harry, his departmental chairman, had left suddenly on some wild goose chase without hearing his case for his own laboratory space. Some crisis at the primate facility in Nevada. A death or something.

  Since coming to Cal Pacific, Wickingham’s office was a small cramped affair at the end of a long hallway on the top floor of the science building. His large personal library barely fit in the meager bookshelves on one wall. A tiny window looked out over the parking lot where the animal rights demonstrators had
gathered days earlier.

  His faculty appointment at Cal Pacific was his first since earning his doctorate, one that he was grateful to obtain, although most of his colleagues back home felt he was unworthy. But he would show them--he would show them all. Just because his father was doing time for tax evasion was no reason for Wickingham to be treated the way he was by his fellow graduate students. He had a lot to prove.

  He realized that the most cogent argument for a larger lab was his own funding. That would mean more people, which, in turn, would increase the department’s overall productivity. Apart from having his own grant money, he knew such decisions weren’t made on a strictly monetary basis. Productivity and scientific quality in terms of publications and student training were always a big factor. But if he had a grant, things would be different--he could sway Olson. If he had a series of publications under his belt, things would be different.

  As a new faculty member, he knew he was swimming upstream.

  But Wickingham wasn’t a patient man. Nor was he above dirty politics if it came to that. The Anthropology Department seemed free of internal strife but that could change. Especially if he helped things along.

  ***

  Once the parties were all seated around Radner’s conference table, Calder removed the notebook from his pocket and set it in front of him. Electric tension filled the room, and he noticed the grim, haggard faces staring back at him. No one talked. The conference room was as quiet as a morgue. The sheriff had the sense that he wasn’t going to get much more information from the scientists. His best bet was going to be the veterinarian.