The Chimera Secret Page 6

  ‘What? Lopez asked.

  ‘They were tiny,’ Professor Middleton said. ‘A fully grown adult male might only reach three feet tall. It’s the result of a process called dwarfism, when a species finds itself on a small island or in an environment with limited resources. Evolution through natural selection favors smaller species with smaller demands on the limited environment. Sophisticated stone implements of a size considered appropriate to the three-foot-tall humans were widely present in the cave. The implements were at horizons from ninety-five to thirteen thousand years ago and were found in the same stratigraphic layer as an elephant of the extinct genus Stegodon, also a dwarf species, which was widespread throughout Asia during the period and presumably the prey. They also shared the island with giant rats and Komodo dragons.’

  ‘So?’ Ethan asked.

  ‘They didn’t die out until just thirteen thousand years ago,’ Jarvis explained. ‘Local geology suggests that a volcanic eruption on Flores approximately twelve thousand years ago was responsible for the demise of Homo floresiensis, along with other local fauna, including the elephant Stegodon. But the Nage people of Flores still speak of the Ebu Gogo people: small, hairy, language-poor cave dwellers on the scale of this species.’

  ‘They’re still alive?’ Lopez asked in amazement.

  ‘It’s entirely possible,’ Middleton said, ‘that pockets of this species could have survived until this day. Imagine, an entirely different species of human walking our planet. The dwarfism that has caused their diminutive size seems to have had little impact on their technological achievements when compared to our own ancestors of equivalent vintage.’

  ‘What have they got to do with a sasquatch though?’ Lopez asked. ‘They’re supposed to be huge.’

  Middleton simply gestured again to the footprint.

  ‘The opposite of dwarfism is giganticism,’ he explained. ‘Put simply, if a species is placed into either a resource-rich environment, or one where there are predators big enough to force an evolutionary advantage in being large, then almost any species can grow to enormous proportions.’

  ‘Kind of like the dinosaurs,’ Ethan suggested.

  ‘Exactly like the dinosaurs,’ Middleton agreed. ‘Even before they ruled the earth, the atmosphere of our planet was far richer in oxygen than today, resulting in species that still exist but were far larger in the past. There were centipedes a hundred times larger than today and dragonflies with wingspans two yards across.’

  Ethan had a mental image of a dragonfly with the wingspan of an eagle, then quickly exterminated it from his thoughts with a shiver.

  Jarvis’s cellphone trilled in his pocket. He answered it, asked a couple of brief questions and then shut the line off and looked at Ethan. ‘There’s been a development.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’ve found the remains of park ranger Gavin Coltz,’ Jarvis said sternly. ‘Whatever killed him, it sure as hell wasn’t a man.’

  9

  DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY HEADQUARTERS, JOINT BASE ANACOSTIA-BOLLING, WASHINGTON DC

  Lieutenant General Abraham Mitchell was a tall and powerfully built African-American who had served the United States of America his entire adult life. An aura surrounded him like a force field, staff veering out of his way as he strode down the seventh-floor corridor to his office.

  The Chair of the Military Intelligence Board and a deeply respected figure at the Pentagon, Abraham Mitchell had the ear of the President and could, provided with sufficient evidence, order an air-strike on any location on earth whether on enemy or allied soil. Yet today, for all of his ribbons and all of the respect, Mitchell knew that trouble was brewing within the intelligence community and that he was close to the epicenter.

  He walked into his office and closed the door as the two men awaiting him rose from their seats. One was a former Green Beret by the name of Foster, who in his career as a field man had served in more theaters of war than even Mitchell. As a soldier, he was a man with whom Mitchell could identify. The other man was General William Steel, Director of the CIA. A visit from DCIA only happened when there was something wrong. Very wrong.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Mitchell greeted them without preamble. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Foster and Steel sat down opposite Mitchell as he eased his 220-pound frame into his chair. Foster spoke with a gravelly voice, the result of two decades of screaming at recruits down Fort Benning way.

  ‘We’ve been sent up here regarding a possible breach of security protocol by one of your team.’

  Mitchell raised an eyebrow. ‘Whom?’

  ‘A Douglas Jarvis,’ Foster replied. ‘Former United States Marine officer, works under your watch on a new program of some kind. Homeland sent us here in person because they have no access to files pertaining to this program he’s running. We were wondering whether you could fill us in?’

  Mitchell remained motionless for a moment. Foster was maintaining a formal bearing but he was clearly trying to project a reasonable persona at the same time. Mitchell could see it in his expression and body language that was saying: hey, we’re both on the same side here. General Steel, on the other hand, simply watched Mitchell with an unblinking gaze. Reptilian, Mitchell thought.

  ‘Jarvis is responsible for the overseeing of a classified research program for the agency,’ Mitchell replied. ‘It’s an autonomous outfit, so neither Homeland nor the Pentagon would have direct access to it.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Steel asked, speaking for the first time. His voice was both soft and threatening, a forged-in-granite confidence born of thirty years in the CIA.

  ‘Intelligence security,’ Mitchell replied, unfazed. ‘The program has assets on the ground, and exposure of their activities could render them at risk from potential hostiles.’

  Foster’s controlled expression slipped slightly. Steel remained silent. Mitchell became aware of people walking past his office door as the silence stretched out for several seconds until Foster finally spoke.

  ‘Sir, we have managed to identify two individuals who have been connected to this program within the DIA.’ He slid a pair of glossy images across the desk to Mitchell. ‘Do you recognize them?’

  Mitchell looked down and saw a black-and-white mug shot of Ethan Warner staring up at him. It was typical of the CIA that they would source a shot of Warner taken in Cook County Jail, and not one from the much easier to acquire service record at the US Marine’s primary training base at Quantico, Virginia. Beside Warner’s haggard features was a shot of Nicola Lopez, again taken via a surveillance team and not a more formal shot of her proudly wearing the blues of the Washington Police Department.

  He looked up at Steel and Foster. These boys had an agenda all right.

  ‘They work for Jarvis,’ he replied. ‘They’re his primary agents.’

  William Steel nodded and leaned back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap as he spoke.

  ‘You are aware of the joint Pentagon and NASA operation down at Cape Canaveral, Project Watchman?’

  Mitchell nodded. Watchman was a major defense initiative launched by the National Reconnaissance Office that used orbiting KH-11 Keyhole Satellites and immense super-computers to record events on earth in real time and compress the data into a virtual world through which operatives could move. The project had been running for over ten years now, and represented for the intelligence community the ability to do what no other government agency on earth could do – effectively look back in time, anywhere on earth.

  ‘Watchman is something that the DIA has a close relationship with,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Too close,’ Steel replied. ‘Your man Jarvis recently allowed both Ethan Warner and his partner, Nicola Lopez, into the facility. Not only that, but he allowed them to actually use the program themselves.’

  ‘They were involved in an investigation that ultimately saved thousands, if not millions of lives,’ Mitchell said. ‘Their exposure to sensitive programs is more than justified by their success in u
tilising the information obtained.’

  ‘That would be true,’ Steel said, ‘were Warner and Lopez not civilian contractors. It’s not in the interest of our intelligence services to bring unqualified risks to our work.’

  Mitchell leveled Steel with a stony gaze.

  ‘More than half the workforce of the CIA’s most important directorate, the National Clandestine Service, is outsourced, so don’t come in here telling me that my outfit is jeopardizing national security. Warner and Lopez are only given cases that the rest of the intelligence community has already rejected as unworkable, and their resulting investigations have been unqualified success stories. Perhaps you should ask yourself why it was that the Pentagon have turned away from at least three major investigations that presented clear and present dangers to both American security and the lives of our citizens?’

  ‘This isn’t about blame,’ Foster intervened. ‘We’re being asked to ensure that the security of our most sensitive operations cannot be blown by two people over whom we have no control. This program that you’re running represents a very weak link in a long chain of carefully orchestrated security measures. I can’t just go back to the Secretary of Defense and tell him that, hey, everything’s just fine, chill out. If Watchman or a comparable program were exposed to the public, all of our careers would be on the line.’

  Mitchell remained impassive.

  ‘Who sent you, exactly?’ Neither Foster nor Steel replied, which pretty much was an answer in itself. Mitchell let a bitter little smile curl from one corner of his mouth. ‘So, nobody sent you. The spooks at the CIA have finally taken an interest in what Doug’s achieved down here.’ He glanced at Steel. ‘Let me guess: Warner and Lopez have done what you guys couldn’t, you’ve gotten all upset about it, so now you’re looking to take over the operation.’

  ‘This is about security,’ Steel replied in a crisp tone. ‘Nothing more.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Mitchell replied without losing the smile. ‘So much so that you want me to breach my own agency’s security protocols and tell you everything about one of our programs.’ He let the smile slip. ‘Not going to happen.’

  ‘We’re on the same side here, Abe,’ Foster said, trying to keep the mood cordial. ‘We just need to keep everybody’s borders tight is all. If this program is such a big deal then maybe you could run it through the NRO and cut Warner and Lopez loose. That way it’s all internal and we’re not farming work out to people like that.’

  Foster gestured loosely to the images of Lopez and Warner.

  ‘People like what?’ Mitchell rumbled.

  ‘A convicted felon and an amateur gumshoe,’ Foster almost chuckled in response. ‘Come on, we’ve got much better people available for this kind of work who won’t set off alarm bells in DC.’

  Mitchell’s fists balled of their own accord.

  ‘If you’d bothered to look into the history of these two investigators, instead of just sucking up the crap that the CIA is obviously feeding you, you’d know that Ethan Warner is a decorated former United States Marine, as is Doug Jarvis, and that Nicola Lopez is a former DC police detective. Neither of them is amateur at anything.’

  ‘They’re both liabilities,’ Steel snapped. ‘Ethan Warner has a reputation for opposing and directly disobeying authority and Lopez is known to be a short fuse at the best of times. Yet they’re both wandering around the country with access to all manner of classified materials. Jarvis has twice used assets of our Navy and Air Force to achieve his aims in support of these investigations, which have often led to extreme exposure events such as exploding civilian apartment buildings, violent incidents in allied countries such as Israel and repeated firearms violations in public areas throughout the country. Our business, sir, is both covert and classified. These two . . .’ Steel gestured at the photographs. ‘They’re a danger to national security, not an asset to it.’

  Mitchell leaned across the desk, his dark eyes glowering into Steel’s.

  ‘Left to you, none of those cases would ever have been investigated, let alone solved. The Pentagon has acquired extraordinary technology as a direct result of these investigations and I’ll be damned if I’ll let the CIA kick the door down now.’

  Foster sighed heavily as Steel bolted upright from his seat and stalked out of the office. Mitchell waited until the door had closed behind him before he looked at Foster. The soldier’s expression said it all.

  ‘Are you really in bed with the CIA?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Transferred out of the army for medical reasons,’ Foster explained. ‘My knees gave in. I’m too damned old to learn the intelligence game and all that computerized crap, so they attach me to field agents instead for mutual training.’

  ‘Watch your back,’ Mitchell warned. ‘The CIA has a long history of self-preservation at the expense of its agents.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got myself covered,’ Foster said as he stood. ‘But they’ll get what they want in the end.’

  He was right, Mitchell knew. That was just the way of things. He knew that Jarvis had hoped to have cracked a few more cases before the Pentagon really started taking notice, which would have given him more information and evidence to defend Warner and Lopez. Jarvis had a lot of time for Ethan Warner, and to his surprise Mitchell had also been quietly impressed with the man’s tenacity and success.

  ‘I know. Just going to try to hold them off for a while longer, is all.’

  ‘Don’t try too hard. There’s too much at stake, for all three of us now that we’re involved, and for your man Jarvis,’ Foster warned him. ‘It’s better for you all if you handle their investigations directly through this office and keep us in the loop.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Because I’m only here due to Warner’s military history,’ Foster replied. ‘Truth is, Abe, I’ve got very little control over what CIA might try to do. I’m consulting, not controlling.’

  ‘Steel’s in charge of this?’ Mitchell asked in surprise. Foster nodded. ‘Under whose mandate?’ Mitchell pressed.

  ‘It went past the Director of National Intelligence,’ Foster replied.

  ‘Which means an executive order,’ Mitchell rumbled unhappily. ‘Jesus, what are they trying to keep under the carpet now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Foster admitted, ‘and I don’t want to know. Last I heard there’s another Congressional investigation running, looking into CIA projects that haven’t been seen by Congress. If Steel’s gotten himself knee-deep in something, he’ll want to clear the decks and tie up loose ends before Congress gets hold of anything solid.’

  Mitchell nodded. William Steel was a good man and an undoubted patriot, but he was also ruthless in maintaining secrecy at the CIA and hated the interventions made by Congress in the past. Mitchell wasn’t sure just how far Steel would go to ensure his agency remained free from interference, but he was damned sure the general would not be made a patsy for a previous director’s indiscretions.

  ‘Who’s the enforcer for all of this?’ Mitchell asked as Foster turned to leave. ‘Steel must have somebody on the ground picking up the pieces if everything goes south.’

  Foster’s hand rested on the door handle as he replied.

  ‘I don’t know, but keep your people in sight. The administration is maintaining complete deniability for this little clean-up operation of Steel’s. If his back is forced to the wall, Ethan Warner and Nicola Lopez are likely to end up as targets themselves.’

  10

  NEW MEADOWS AIRPORT, IDAHO

  The chartered Beech Twin Bonanza thumped down onto the grass runway and rumbled along beside the tiny town of New Meadows. Ethan peered out of rain-streaked windows at the soaring mountains nearby, their peaks lost in dense wreaths of gray cloud and the fields below sodden and damp.

  A light drizzle had enveloped the airplane all the way up from Friedman Memorial Airport, the thick clouds obscuring Ethan’s view of the mountainous and forested terrain as the pilot guided them ov
er tumultuous bumps in the air. The mountains caused violent updrafts and downdrafts that tossed the little aircraft about as though it were a leaf in a gale.

  Ethan knew that Idaho was not a densely populated state, but even so the vast tracts of wilderness that had stretched into the gloomy distance beneath them had seemed so immense that he could not imagine how one might begin systematically searching it for any creature unknown to science, much less one that had made these lonely forests its home for untold millennia.

  ‘We’re digging ourselves a hole with this one,’ Lopez said, peering out of her window as the aircraft taxied off the runway and bumped along a track. ‘A big, damp, cold hole.’

  ‘Sheriff’s picking us up from here,’ Ethan replied as he unbuckled from his seat. ‘Maybe there have been more developments since we left Chicago.’

  The pilot shut down the aircraft’s engines, and as Ethan clambered out of the airplane he saw a portly sheriff ambling his way across the rutted, rain-sodden soil toward them.

  ‘Earl Carpenter,’ he introduced himself, ‘Riggins Sheriff’s Department. Welcome to Idaho.’

  He said it with a cheery smile and a twinkling eye, and Ethan wondered whether the drizzle and cold was something folk just got used to up here. The sheriff proved himself a helpful soul, carrying their bags to his patrol car before they climbed in and set off north on the U-95.

  ‘Riggins is about thirty-five miles out,’ Earl informed them as he drove away from the airport. ‘Say, where did you guys come from? All I got told was that you were working for the government or something?’

  ‘Private contractors,’ Ethan replied by way of an explanation, ‘the FBI don’t have the manpower to dedicate a team to this investigation, so we help fill in for them.’

  Earl Carpenter frowned as he glanced in his mirror at Lopez.

  ‘You qualified for this kind of work, ma’am?’

  ‘Worked homicide as a detective in DC for six years,’ Lopez replied without bridling. ‘Ethan here is ex-marines, recon.’