Chimera

CHAPTER 29

Hidden underground trophy room at the Graystone Fields Ranch

The dining table had been set so that Michael Hateley’s three guests all had a clear view of the centerpiece section of wall that was the focus of his luxurious, underground endangered species trophy room.

The dinner — consisting of a truffle salad, Szechwan green beans, glazed Georgian yams, and young Alaskan Moose steaks easily cut with a fork, followed by an almond creme brule and savory fresh-ground Brazilian coffee, all served by Hateley’s personal chef from a heated stainless steel cart- provided a pleasant distraction from the issues yet to be discussed; and an easy topic of muted conversation among men who had known and engaged with each other for almost two decades.

But finally — after Hateley’s butler had filled each crystal sniffer with a generous portion of rare French Brandy, distributed fine Cuban cigars all around, placed the carafe in the center of the South African yellow-wood table, and then quietly departed — Dr. Stuart Jackson Caldreaux raised his glass in salute.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “once again, thanks to our host this evening, we have been privileged to indulge ourselves with the best that life has to offer. If I may be so bold as to offer a toast: to Michael Hateley, a man who savors life to the fullest and graciously shares that life with his friends.”

The three men facing the empty centerpiece all raised the brandy sniffers in salute. Michael Hateley acknowledged their appreciation with a brief nod of his head.

“And, having said that,” Caldreaux went on, “I would like to start the evening’s discussion off with a serious question to our esteemed host.”

Suddenly, the underground room grew silent.

“Why is it, do you think, Michael,” Caldreaux said quietly in his deep Louisiana drawl, “that my friends and I were recently informed that we are no longer welcome to hunt rare game in the wildlife preserves of Thailand; and that if we persist in our amusements, we would either be taken into custody or shot on sight?”

“I’m told…” Hateley began, but then stopped when Caldreaux held up his hand in a pausing gesture.

“To further focus my question, Michael, could it possibly have anything to do with the empty centerpiece on your wall that Max, Sam and I have been staring at for the past two hours?”

Michael Hateley briefly closed his eyes, took in a deep steadying breath, and then locked his gaze on his accuser, annoyed because he’d already explained the Clouded Leopard situation to Caldreaux; which meant his chief competitor in the trophy stakes was taking the opportunity probe deeper into his affairs, and to gain a useful edge in their annual competition.

Fine with me, Stuart, Hateley thought, your rooster tail’s going to be drooping sadly by the time this dinner is over.

“When I originally made plans for this dinner,” he began, looking around at all three men, “it was my intent that all of you would dine under the gaze of a trophy Clouded Leopard, the likes of which have not been seen on this planet for at least five hundred years; and that you would all be envious of my accomplishment for at least a few weeks — until each of you could book a similar hunt to bag a similar trophy.”

The other three men around the table briefly favored each other with amused glances. The idea that this was a highly motivated group of cut-throat competitors determined to win at any cost had never been in question.

“It was a reasonable intent, because I recently shot that animal in the Khlong Saeng Wildlife Preserve of southern Thailand.”

This time, the exchanged glances among Hateley’s three guests were longer and more meaningful.

“So you were involved in the Phuket incident that got us tossed out of Thailand,” Sam Fogarty said accusingly.

“I’m not sure the word ‘incident’ accurately describes the situation,” Max Kingman added. “I understand two helicopters were shot down, and a number of Thai Rangers were killed.”

“I don’t know anything about helicopters being shot down, or anyone getting killed; certainly not during our hunt,” Hateley said emphatically. “We did have a brief confrontation with some Rangers on patrol that night, but I believe everything was resolved amicably with an appropriate exchange of cash. They drove away and we continued on with our business. However, some kind of unfortunate event apparently did happen at a checkpoint later on — after I’d left Thailand — which resulted in the loss of my Clouded Leopard; and, it seems, our Thai hunting privileges being revoked, at least for the time being.”

The other three men looked at each other uneasily.

“Let me assure you, I regret that as much as anyone in this room; and I promise you that I’m going to do whatever it takes — and pay whatever it costs — to get that situation turned around as quickly as possible,” Hateley went on forcefully. “But, in the meantime, I also want you to know how much I value our friendship, and our little club; so much so that I am going to do something tonight that I never thought I would ever do.”

The three men were watching Hateley intently now.

“What I’m going to do is offer to share my next hunt with all three of you,” Hateley said. “A once-in-a-lifetime hunt that, if all goes well, will provide each of us with a trophy beyond our wildest dreams.”

“As you well know, Michael, ’beyond your wildest dreams’ is a mighty big mountain to climb, especially where my dreams and aspirations are concerned,” Caldreaux drawled before taking a sip from his brandy sniffer. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Rather than tell you, because you won’t believe me,” Hateley said as he reached for a remote lying on the table beside his plate, “I’m going to show you.”

As Hateley pressed buttons on the remote, the room darkened, a four-foot-by-eight-foot digital screen slid silently down from the ceiling in front of the trophy wall, and a bright blue Powerpoint™ slide suddenly appeared bearing the words: the hunt of an era

Then, as the room remained hushed, Hateley clicked the remote once more and the picture of a single animal standing in front of a concrete wall filled the huge screen.

“What the hell — ?” Caldreaux rasped hoarsely.

“That’s… that’s — ” Fogarty sputtered, trying to get the word out.

“A mammoth?” Kingman whispered the word in an incredulous voice.

“My God, it looks real,” Caldreaux said as he leaned forward to get a better view.

“That creature is as real — and as alive — as the four of us in this room,” Hateley said matter-of-factly.

“But how is that possible?” Fogarty demanded. “I thought — ?”

“That Jurassic Park was a fictional tale?” Hateley smiled. “Well, you’re right, Sam, it was — and still is — a fairy tale. That creature you see on the scene was not created from the reassembled DNA of a mammoth, but rather by the genetic manipulation of DNA within a like-creature.”

Hateley thumbed the remote and a new image of a single animal filled the screen.

“You manipulated the DNA of an elephant, and turned it into a mammoth? Is that actually possible?” Caldreaux whispered disbelievingly.

Hateley thumbed the remote again and the mammoth image filled the screen again, only this time the image was digital video; and for a stunning ten seconds, the four men in the hushed room watched the creature swing its thick trunk back and forth between its two curved tusks as it stared at the camera. The sound of Caldreaux’s brandy sniffer shattering on the floor was barely noticed.

The video stopped, and for a long moment, the room was deathly silent.

“One of us is actually going to be able to kill and mount a real mammoth? Is that what you’re saying?” Kingman could barely get the words out of his suddenly dry mouth.

“But how would we chose — a drawing of straws?” The desperate greed in Fogarty’s voice was apparent to all three of Hateley’s guests, because each and every one of them was thinking precisely the same thing.

That mammoth has to be mine.

“No, we’re not going to draw straws,” Hateley said. “We couldn’t do that; we’d end up shooting each other in the back.”

The other three men were silent, almost afraid to speak, knowing that their host was right.

“Fortunately,” Hateley went on calmly, “we won’t have to compete with each other for the privilege of being the first human hunter in twenty thousand years to take a mammoth; because I happen to have access to four of these wondrous creatures — one for each of us.”

The other three men sagged in their chairs as one, relief and joy spilling across their now-smiling faces.

“My God, Michael, you are a genius; the Merchant da Morte, without question,” Caldreaux rasped, raising his water glass toward the wall-mounted boar’s head in salute, a gesture immediately followed by the other two men.

“Don’t be so quick with your praise,” Hateley said somberly. “There’s a very serious problem we all have to deal with before we can have our hunt and mount these trophies on our walls.”

“What problem? Are you talking about the law?” Caldreaux demanded. “That’s preposterous! This is none of their business!”

“After all, it’s not illegal to shoot a mammoth, is it?” Fogarty said. “I mean, how could it be? They don’t exist.”

“Except that now they do,” Kingman reminded in a voice that could only be described as reverent.

“The law is not our problem, gentlemen; or, at least, not for the moment,” Hateley said. “As Sam correctly pointed out, it is not against the law to kill mammoths. Our problem is more of an emotional issue.”

Hateley thumbed the remote once more, and this time the two images of the elephant and mammoth appeared to have been merged into one; except that one of the animals was suddenly much bigger than the other.

“Oh my God, it’s a baby,” Kingman said in a hushed voice.

The three men sat mute in the darkened room as the magnitude of the problem struck home with a finality that tore at their hearts.

“I — can’t shoot a baby mammoth,” Fogarty finally said in a choked voice. “Jesus, I mean, if anyone ever found out — ”

“At this stage of my life, as you all know, I don’t have many scruples left; perhaps none at all,” Caldreaux said in a voice filled with anguish. “But I can tell you one thing that’s as certain as the passage of time: I am not going to sit down to dinner and stare at that little creature’s head on my wall; or on any of your walls either, for that matter.”

“Then we just have to wait, until they get older,” Kingman offered hesitantly.

“But, what if someone else — ?” Fogarty couldn’t finish the unthinkable question.

“They do belong to you, Michael; that is what you said, isn’t it?” Caldreaux demanded, turning his head sharply to stare at Hateley.

“I said I have access to them; but I don’t own them,” Hateley replied evenly. “They will have to be purchased.”

“Then we have to buy them now, immediately,” Kingman said, “at whatever the cost, before someone outbids us.”

“Or we could just steal them, if the price turns out to be unacceptable,” Fogarty pointed out.

“Either way, I don’t care; just as long as one of them ends up being mine,” Caldreaux said emphatically.

The solemn nodding of all three heads around his table told Hateley what he had desperately wanted to hear from the members of his club. It meant the plan was now thinkable, and perhaps even doable.

“Gentlemen,” he said after pausing a few moments for effect, “now that I have your full attention to the crucial matter at hand, I would like to introduce a fifth guest to our table this evening.”

“What?!” Caldreaux’s eyes bulged wide as he quickly looked around the darkened room. “You invited a stranger to our dinner?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Fogarty demanded as he and Kingman started up out of their chairs.

“Gentlemen, please stay seated,” Hateley said in a soothing voice. “And no, I have not lost my mind on this momentous evening, because the man I’m about to introduce is not a stranger to anyone in this room; or to the covert nature of our amusements.”

Hateley waited until all three of his guests had regained their chairs and at least some degree of their composure before thumbing the remote one last time.

In the far corner of the underground room, a single overhead light came on, revealing the figure of a man they all knew all too well.

“Gentlemen,” Marcus Wallis said, “thank you very much for inviting me to your annual dinner. The meal — which I had the honor of sharing with the chef, and as you’ve already noted — was superb. However, I came here tonight for more important reasons than food. First, to apologize for the unfortunate incident in Thailand; and, secondly, to offer a solution to what I see as a simple moral dilemma.”

Wallis paused for a moment, his cold eyes surveying the darkened room and the three men at the table, two of whom aappeared frozen in place.

“Every hunter has his limitations; shots they cannot or will not take. You four men seem to have discovered yours, and understandably so. But I would suggest to you that your revulsion to the idea of shooting an immature animal — especially one newly risen from extinction — and putting that creature’s head on your wall, is a perfectly rational response. I’m certain it’s not the act of shooting or killing that repels any of you; but, rather, the lack of a challenge.

“In essence,” Wallis concluded, “you would never be able to look up at these mounts with any sense of pride or accomplishment; therefore, they would never be a true trophy in any of your eyes.”

Wallis paused again to survey the frozen expressions of his audience, and smiled.

“Unless,” he said, as he reached down to the floor and picked up a pair of objects,” you chose to do something, as a group, that hasn’t been done for twenty thousand years.”

He held up a flint-tipped wooden spear in one hand, and a hide-wrapped flint knife in the other.

“Hunt down your mammoths and kill them the old-fashioned way.”