Callsign: Rook (Stan Tremblay) (Chess Team, #3)

So, Rook could assume the creature had a grudge against Fossen. Aside from indicating that using Fossen as bait might be a good strategy, that fact didn’t get him anywhere. Maybe he’d suggest the bait idea tomorrow if tonight didn’t pan out.

The creature’s obvious protection of the wolves also served to add to the confusion. Combined with the apparent grudge against Fossen, it made Rook wonder if Fossen’s “research” had any negative impact on the wolves. The more he considered this, the more likely he thought it, but it didn’t help him to know any more about how to find and kill the creature.

Other questions started popping into his head. Why had Fossen’s son tried to kill him the night before Fossen turned friendly? Who had fired the shot at his tire today? Was anything at all in this town what it seemed on the surface?

Rook knew the answer to the last one was no. As for the rest, he had no clue. Things were spinning out of control, and none of the town’s residents with the possible exception of Fossen seemed to sense it. All in all, Rook couldn’t have found a more appropriate place for a Special Forces soldier to wind up on vacation.

Around ten o’clock, Rook saw a shadow at the top of the steep grade. A moment later, he could make out the yeti’s outline in the moonlight. His hunch had paid off.

Now what do I do?

Rook’s plan was to try again to figure out where the creature was coming from. He’d wait until it disappeared, then go back down the hill and not stop looking until he found something. If it took past midnight, Fossen might wonder what the hell was going on when Rook didn’t have the sensor, but he’d talk his way around that one. He did have the walkie-talkie with him.

Tonight, the creature moved with a noticeable limp, something Rook noted with satisfaction. About time, he showed signs of mortality. Thank you, Eirek Fossen, for doing something brave and stupid and firing those shots at it.

As the creature reached the edge of the clearing where the wolves had circled the previous night, Rook dropped silently from the tree. The odor was strong, and unlike the previous evening, Rook hadn’t become accustomed to it yet. Maybe he’d get lucky.

He turned on his headlamp and headed down the embankment. When he reached the bottom, he sniffed, trying to gauge the smell. It was certainly stronger than it had been during the day. Rather than walk a specific grid, he tried to let his nose guide him.

After a few minutes, he had narrowed down a small area from where the smell seemed to originate. It was not as strong as right at the base of the hill, but moving in any direction other than back the way he’d come caused it to weaken considerably. Right here is where the creature must have come from.

Looking at the ground, nothing jumped out at him. He’d been over this ground the previous evening and a couple of times earlier today. Aside from a bush about two feet high and five feet in diameter, the frozen ground had no distinguishing features. He examined the bush, pulling back each branch, one by one.

He saw evidence of broken and crushed branches, but he couldn’t assume that was due to anything other than some animal trampling it. As he reached its roots, though, he made a discovery: The ground around the roots in the center was solid.

In fact, when he tapped it with his hand, he heard a small reverberation. Scraping away at the dirt, he saw metal glinting in his headlamp. Rook knew with certainty now that the bush was hiding some sort of cover or door.

He considered how to expose it and open it. Perhaps it could be opened only with some sort of remote, but he doubted that. He had resigned himself to scraping away dirt until he found the edges when he noticed that closer to the outer perimeter of the bush, the ground was a little higher than in the center. He stepped back and grabbed the roots nearest to a spot where that difference was noticeable, and he pulled.

He heard a creaking sound, and the bush lifted a few inches off the ground. He didn’t have much leverage, and the root slipped out of his hands, dropping the bush back to its former level. He noted how the dirt seemed to drift right into the correct spots to make the seam all but invisible, and he wondered how they managed that.

He got a better grip and tried again, and this time, he lifted it completely, the bush turning sideways as a trap door about four feet square, opened to vertical. He stared down the opening and the creature’s odor rushed up at him, causing him to swallow and his eyes to water. Despite the vile smell, he grinned when he saw the ladder descending into the darkness.

He’d struck pay dirt. He had found the yeti’s lair.





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