Heroes In Uniform (304 page)

At first, Coop had resisted the idea of having her along when he performed the burial. But if he had a notion of spending any part of his future with this woman, he'd better make sure he could live with her observing his cultural rituals. He had to rid himself of his gut-level mistrust of any woman who was as curious about his heritage as Maggie was.

“I didn't know Fish and Wildlife did that.” Maggie climbed down from the bike and slid off her helmet.

“There's no set policy about what is done with the animals. It's on a case by case basis.”

“Then why bury this one?”

“I'm Cree. It's a bear. It's important.”

She recoiled at his sharp words, and turned back to the bike. “Maybe I should stay here.”

He hadn't mean to snap. It was just so hard to make himself confront this. He stepped up behind her and laid a hand on her arm. “Of course not. I brought you along because I want you with me.” He gave her a squeeze. “Unless you'd rather not.”

She swung around to face him. “Wolf, I want to know everything about you. That includes your culture.”

Fighting down a knee-jerk surge of suspicion, he reminded himself that he already knew she'd be interested. He smiled at her through clamped teeth. “Great.”

When they arrived at the spot where the remains of the bear lay, she hung back for a moment.

“Change your mind?”

“No. Just have to brace myself for the sight.”

He pulled out his cell phone to take some photos, recalling her lack of squeamishness at her first kill site. “How did you manage last time?”

“I knew what I was getting into. I'd prepared myself on the hike from the tower not to look at the animals, but only for evidence. Even so, when I walked into that clearing I had to hold my breath to keep from vomiting.”

“Well, you stay back for as long as it takes. Best you don't touch anything, anyway.”

He approached the bear carefully, paying close attention to the ground, searching for footprints or other evidence Jack might have missed. They checked each other’s work whenever possible.

After examining the kill site, he made a scan of the surrounding area. Around twenty feet away, he found a perfectly preserved boot print. One look convinced him Timmons had not worn the boot. The wear pattern was all wrong. He took several photos, then returned to the bear.

Maggie pushed herself off the tree she'd been leaning against, to watch.

Steeling himself, he turned to the bear. It was a young male, shot, then mutilated with an ax. The same MO as all the other kills. Like the previous mother bear, its head and paws were gone. Entrails poured from several long, ugly gashes across its chest and belly. There was blood everywhere.

Coop turned away, disgusted to the core.

Hearing Maggie approach from behind, he dropped his cell phone in a vest pocket and took a deep breath. It was time to begin.

Summoning up his resolve, he spoke to the bear. “
Nimosom
, it is not a good way that you have been killed. I will do what I can to ease your way back to the Owner. Go, and tell him what I have done.”

Pulling his leather pouch from his vest, he sprinkled tobacco on the blood around the carcass, then tucked the bag away and reached for the collapsible spade he'd brought along. He cast a wary glance at Maggie.

She was watching him closely. “What are you going to do?”

“Not much more I can do.” Cooper felt sick at heart, as well as at a loss. At least last time there had been the two cub skulls to align correctly. Today he couldn't even do that, let alone treat the other bones as they deserved to be, cleaned and adorned, and suspended on a bear pole. “It’s an elaborate ritual. But doing it properly would blow my cover if anyone found it. Not a lot of other Crees around.”

“Tell me about the ritual,” she said. Not in a pushy way, but in a way that told him she knew how important it was to him, and wanted to share in it.

He scouted out and cleared a soft-looking spot of ground near a tree, then peeled off his vest, tied a bandanna around his forehead, and began digging. As he did so, he told her of the traditional preparations, and the ceremony.

“Wow,” she said after he’d concluded. “That is elaborate. Why do you do all that?”

He looked up at her, wiping his hands. “Why, indeed.” He leaned over the spade and contemplated the partial hole he’d dug. “It’s supposed to ensure the bear will return to life to be hunted once more. It's a sign of respect. If an animal is not treated with respect, it will be offended. The Owner—the spirit that watches over all the animals—will be insulted and stop sending his children to us. It’s the proper way to behave toward a creature that is making us a gift of its life.”

Maggie listened wide-eyed. “That's beautiful.”

Cooper resumed digging. “Of course, these days, some look at it more as a metaphor than a specific rite of a dying culture. This dead bear is just a symptom of the total disregard for living things and the environment that many people have today.”

He handed her the spade and nodded to the hole, continuing to speak as she leaned over and bit into the ground with it.

“Fastening a skull to a pole isn't going to ensure the survival of a species, or a traditional way of life. But the esteem and respect behind the gesture, just might.”

As she continued digging, he searched for the right tree to gather branches from, annoyed with himself.

Why had he said all that? He never talked about these things with outsiders.

He let out a long breath. Spotting what he was looking for, he cut an armful of green branches and made his way back to her.

But if he had his way, she wouldn’t be an outsider for long.

Dropping the greenery, he pulled off his bandanna and wiped her perspiring face, then took the spade. “Here, let me finish that.”

She sank to the ground beside the hole he jumped into. “But what about regular hunters? Aren’t they showing a disregard for living things, too? By killing them?”

“Trophy hunters, maybe. But any real sportsman, even one who hunts with a rifle, shows a kind of reverence for the animal by treating it as a worthy opponent, by hunting it fairly and according to the rules, by butchering it and eating its flesh. That's just part of the cycle of life.”

She nodded. “But what the poachers are doing is not hunting. It's greed, and exploitation.”

He looked up at her, glad she understood how he felt. “Exactly. And I need to do something to balance that. To restore the harmony, sort of. Catching the poachers is part of it, but that's my job. I also need to do something more personal, something to exorcise the evil taste left at a place like this.” He shook his head, grimacing, and stuck the shovel in the dirt.

“So, you bury the bears.”

“Yeah. So, I bury the bears.”

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Eighty-Eight

“Damn.” Coop let out an irritated breath at the sound of an approaching vehicle. “Impeccable timing.”

He had just turned the bike off the dirt track onto the main service road on their way home, when a truck rounded the bend ahead. Thankfully, after they'd finished burying the bear, he and Maggie had stopped to wash the dirt and sweat off themselves in a shallow creek, so at least they were presentable.

Behind him, she said, “I think we’re okay. I doubt they saw where we came from.”

The truck ground to a halt beside them.

“Hey Coop!” It was Doug, Lori’s latest squeeze and ranch hand at the Wilkins spread. Doug leaned out the window. “Mr. Wilkins sent me to invite you over to the ranch for lunch tomorrow. He said y'all had started such an interesting conversation at the barbecue last night, he'd like to continue it.” Doug glanced approvingly at Maggie. “The lady's invited, too.”

“Thanks. Sounds great,” Coop said, mildly surprised.

“Dr. Timmons and his gang will be there.” Doug tipped back his black cowboy hat with a forefinger. “Mr. Wilkins likes to invite all the visiting dignitaries to lunch. Says it makes a welcome change from us dumb cowpokes.” He laughed.

“Well, I don't know how dignified we are.” Coop grinned. “But for a free lunch, I'm sure we could do a fair imitation.”

“Great. Noon tomorrow.” Doug waved and the truck lurched forward.

Coop sat back on the saddle and contemplated the receding trail of dust. “I'll be damned.”

“What conversation at the barbecue?”

“I was nosing around Conrad’s trophy room and he came by. We got to talking about hunting, but he had to go take care of a problem, so we didn't get into it too deep.”

He frowned, trying to recall something he'd seen in the trophy room. Something that he’d noticed peripherally and had filed away to think about sometime when he wasn't worried about Maggie. Like now.

He stomped down on the kick-starter and pulled on his helmet. “It'll be interesting to see what he really wants to talk about.”

They were halfway up the mountain to the tower when he suddenly remembered what he had seen in that room. “Collars!” Sliding the bike to a halt he slammed his fists onto the handlebars. “Dog collars! That's what it was.”

She jumped off the back of the bike, and glared at him. “Cooper, you have a serious problem with your reckless driving!”

“But don't you see? That's it!”

She stepped toward him, glaring at his self-satisfied expression. “What the hell are you talking about?” She tilted up her visor and frowned at him suspiciously.

“Ha!” He threw his helmet up in the air, let the bike slide to the ground, and grabbed her, swinging her around. “I know how the poachers are doing it!”

She pulled off her helmet, her face brightening. “How?” She laughed, returning his rain of hugs and kisses. “Tell me!”

“We’re idiots. It’s been staring us in the face the whole time.”

“What has?”

“The ear tags. If Timmons can track them, the poachers can, too. Those tags are like homing devices. LoJack for bears. The poor buggers are sitting ducks out there, beeping away, telling anyone listening exactly where they are.”

“You are brilliant!”

He winked. “That's why they pay me the big bucks.” Though, in truth, he was damned annoyed with himself for not seeing it sooner. Sometimes, the most obvious solution was the hardest to see.

She smacked a kiss on his cheek. “But what does that have to do with dog collars?”

“The ones Wilkins has are radio collars. Hunters use them with hound dogs. The dogs track the game, and the hunters track the dogs using the electronic signals from their collars. Just like the bear tags.”

She shook her head. “Wow. How could we have been so blind?”

He shook his head. “Who knew? Except for the battery you found, there's been no clue that the bears were tagged at all, let alone with GPS tags. I assumed the poachers were taking the heads to sell, but it could also be to cover up the fact that the bears all had those same tags.”

“But two of the three bears I saw still had their heads on,” she said.

“Untagged cubs.”

She still appeared puzzled. “Well, call me dense, but— Okay, let's say the bears were tagged, and that's how the poachers really are tracking them.” She looked up at him. “So what? Why would they need to cover that up? And how does it help us?”

He gave her a smug grin. “Because the bastards know that once I’d figured that out, I have a way to nail them. And believe me, I'll nail 'em good.” He kissed her nose. “With a little help from a friend. Feel like taking a drive to Chico?”

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Eighty-Nine

Gary Kowalski peered over his wire-framed glasses at Coop, then at Maggie, who stood next to him at Gary's front door. “Coop! When you called, you didn't tell me you were bringing company. I'd have cleaned up.”

“Bull. I didn't tell you so you wouldn't have to come up with some lame excuse for not getting around to it.” He grinned at his tall, lanky friend, then barged past him into the living room, dragging Maggie along by the hand.

“Well, since you put it like that...” Gary followed them inside and shut the door against the furnace-like afternoon heat of the Sacramento Valley. He glanced at Coop expectantly.

“Gary, this is Maggie.”

Maggie stuck out her hand. “Hi. Coop's told me some pretty wild stories about your adventures together.” She cocked her head, looking him over. “I gotta tell you though, you don't fit my stereotype of an electronics genius.” At his lifted brow, she added, smiling, “That's a compliment, by the way. My dad's an engineer.”

Coop chuckled and looked at his good friend and sometimes-partner the way Maggie probably saw him. With his dusty jeans, leathery face, and burnt-in crow’s feet, Gary could easily pass for a working cowboy.

“Yeah,” Coop said. “When we're on a job together, we're just a couple of good ol' boys out for a day of drinkin' and fishin'. Nobody ever suspects I'm wired and Gary's recording the whole conversation.”

“Yup, we're quite the team.” Gary cracked a crooked smile and ran his hand through his prematurely salt and pepper hair, leading them into a component-littered dining room. “But it looks like you've got yourself a new partner, Coop.”

Coop glanced over at Maggie and winked. “Don't jinx it,
amigo
.” He handed Gary the ear tag that he'd lifted from Roland Timmons’ tent during his first search.

“This it?” Gary asked, popping open the tag with a screwdriver. “
Hmm
. Your basic GPS module, storage chip, and low-frequency transmitter. Nicely compact, though. Whoever designed it did a good job.” He turned to an impressive array of electronic equipment crowded onto an antique sideboard, and flipped a toggle switch. He then fiddled with a dial until a high pitched, intermittent beeping could be heard over the loudspeakers.

“Only thing complicated about it is the sound pattern it emits.” he continued. “A series of long and short beeps interrupted by long and short pauses. Some kind of code, right?”

“Signature,” said Cooper. “Timmons said each transmitter has a different pattern so they know which bear they're observing.” He relaxed back on his heels, fingering the instruments. “Can you build us a transmitter with a similar signal, but maybe a bit stronger?”