The making of another ma.., p.32
Bear Witness: Bryan Knight Book 1, page 32
Bear Witness
Chase Tatham
The right of Chase Tatham to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author except for brief quotations used for promotion of in reviews.
Any reference to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, places, characters and events are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First published 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Chase Tatham
Praise for Bear Witness
Praise for Chase Tatham
For Molly
What is man,
but blood, and flesh, and bone?
What is man,
but mud, and fire, and stone?
‘What is Man?’ – Williom Bloke
Prologue
Chet Adams would only shoot a grizzly if it posed a direct threat to human life. In his hand he held the bolt-action Remington model seven with which he was so familiar, so proficient, and yet today it had the weight of a block of platinum and was about as easy to keep a hold of as an eel drenched in oil.
Integrity was a heavy burden to carry.
With the hand that held the reigns, he pulled back, issuing a command: “Woah,” and his horse, Sandy, in tune with him and every bit as professional, came to a halt. Sandy was a beautiful Appaloosa mare, with a chestnut coat and sand-coloured blanket at her rear, hence the name. He climbed down and led Sandy to a spot where the tree canopy had kept snow from the ground.
Chet gazed at the snow-capped mountains then up at the clouds, ripe with snow that would only make his task more difficult. He ran one hand through his bushy beard and narrowed his eyes, eyes that had witnessed so much in his fifty-eight years, but as harsh as the environment of Yellowstone National Park could be in winter, it was nothing compared to the harsh acts men could do to one another. But that was another life, one he hoped he’d left long in the past. In his role as a park ranger, he understood the need to protect people from threat, and when one of those people happened to be a Chinese politician, and not just any politician, but Qiang Hu, an instrumental figure in maintaining peaceful relations between two superpowers, in the US on important diplomatic business, their actions would come under close scrutiny. The reputation of Yellowstone National Park would certainly be brought into question if this Chinese dignitary were mauled by a grizzly, and given that was what had so nearly happened, Chet had no choice but to take that animal down.
The problem was he had to find it first, and nature wasn’t about to give up one of its own without a fight, no matter how experienced he was.
Given that it was early December, it was a surprise the beast had not already gone into hibernation. Once more, Chet pulled on his beard, as if it gave him access to his years of experience in the role. The danger was that the grizzly’s den had become damaged and he had lost his home. Chet looked at the cluster of luxury log cabins, placed close to the Lamar River with great views of the Absaroka Range. Most of the bear dens were on the north side of the mountains, but the prevalence of some long dead cottonwoods on the rise to the south of the river made for a great location for a bear to dig in. Chet scanned the horizon. He could see where plots had been marked out for another cluster of cabins and shook his head. The protected state of the park seemed to mean so little to politicians these days. They would talk about the importance of Yellowstone and state how it must be protected but as soon as a wad of cash was waved beneath the nose of the right senator, the protection became a lot less important. The park was enormous, and there was more than enough room to make sure that there were opportunities for people to enjoy it. And given that Government funding had been repeatedly cut over the last couple of generations, the money had to come from somewhere.
But if they didn’t respect the land, if they did not respect nature, then nature would not respect them. If they had failed to follow protocol (protocol is the domain of the poor), encroaching on an area that was out of bounds during hibernation season, they would suffer the consequences. Alas, Chet’s point of view was out of kilter in the world he lived in, and his superiors had sent him out to eliminate the bear threat. Allegedly, the bear came up to the cabin and knocked down a trash can. When one of the residents came out to investigate, the grizzly took a swipe at him. It must have been a warning. Had the grizzly intended to do damage, the young man would not have had a chance. He reported stepping back to avoid the slashing claw, and treading on the bin lid, the resulting cacophony scaring the bear off. What was more likely was that after offering a warning, and seeing the young man retreat, the bear had done likewise, having the good sense to deescalate the situation. If the bear had desired to do damage, then damage it would have done, the claws sharper than a set of santaku knives, and swung on the end of an arm as good as powered with rocket fuel.
And it was Chet’s job to take it down.
Except for at the peaks, snow had yet to fall to a great extent, and only a few inches covered the ground. The aspens still held on to a few of their yellow leaves, and those that fell most recently sat atop that layer of white. The spruces on the rise on the opposite side of the river had only a light dusting of flakes resting upon the branches.
The low sun shone through the gaps in the trees, the reflection dazzling on the white snow. Chet knew he wouldn’t have long before darkness fell which would make tracking the ferocious bear so much more difficult. The area was home to all manner of wildlife; it was one of many things that he loved about his job as a park ranger–animals were so much easier to understand than people. Looking down, he could see the tracks that could have been moose, elk and pronghorn. Fainter were the paw prints of wolves. Perhaps a pack had come through on a hunt last night. The closer he got to the fallen cottonwoods, the clearer the indication of bear activity became. He stopped by a cluster of aspens, the shredded bark on the trunks indicative of claw-sharpening activity. The nearby faecal matter, significantly harder than Chet would have expected, suggested that this creature’s diet had been largely meat rather than berries or grass. Beyond those trees there were further tracks but not tracks made by any animal. The snow was not yet deep enough to necessitate the use of a snowmobile, but someone had been on the slopes on a quad bike. Chet shook his head. Did they have no respect for the environment? He didn’t even know why he asked himself. Of course they didn’t. Not far beyond were more fallen cottonwoods. Looking for further signs on the ground, Chet approached the trees, and it wasn’t long before he noticed the dip in the ground and the overturned earth, the clear sign of a collapsed den. No doubt the poor grizzly would be busy procuring a new home, but in the meantime he would have to eat, and make sure he kept up the fat reserves he’d need for winter hibernation.
Chet stopped and scanned the horizon again. A herd of buffalo meandered across the plain, following the path of the river along, a magnificent group of beasts. Closer, among the trees on the slope on which the cabins sat at the base of, he spotted a hint of dark fur. While it could have been a moose, it was much more likely this was the creature he’d been looking for. Damn! How he’d wished he’d find no sign of the creature. He could report back no sighting, and would be put on a patrol rota with other rangers to ensure the safety of those that had no business being in the park in the first place. But if it was present, Chet would have no choice but to take action, brutal, bloody, deadly action.
Chet returned to his horse. He gave Sandy’s mane a stroke, and pulled a treat from the saddlebag. If he were to take the life of a creature, he needed comfort from another first. He checked his rifle over and made sure the ammunition he carried was more than sufficient in quantity, and approached the trees.
Chet was well trained in stealth. He had a life before he was a ranger, entrenched in the sinister and secretive world of men, and while he was putting those skills to work now, it was not a world he missed. Undisturbed, the bear remained in place, down on all fours, muzzle close to the ground. As Chet closed on the creature, he realised that it was feeding. The black and white fur gave away that it was the carcass of a badger on which it fed. While not unheard of, it was an unusual choice of meal for such a beast as a grizzly, hinting at the desperation of the situation it found itself in. Even hunched over its meal, it was evident that this was a particularly large specimen. Scrutinising the curve of its long spine, at full stretch, Chet estimated that the bear would stand in excess of seven feet, a behemoth of a creature. Perhaps of greater concern was how lean the beast was. Yes, the limbs looked powerful, but there was not the meat on the bones, that layer of fat, that one would hope to find on a creature that should have been ready for its winter-long rest. If it were in no condition to hibernate, if it were making such unusual food choices, then it was correct to assume it could be dangerous.
The rifle felt heavier yet as Chet lifted it to aim. He looked at the beast through the sights. He had a clear shot, but the bear was not about to flee. He always felt an affinity with the creatures. His personality had certainly become grisly over the years. He hadn’t always been so, but years of working with shady agencies had sucked a lot of the joy from his life. When that job led to the death of his wife when we was only in his early thirties, he realised he d given too much, more than could be expected from any man. As a widower, he had a responsibility to raise his young son, Marvin. At the age of five how could he understand that his mother wouldn’t be coming back? He loved that boy, and he did what he could to raise him right, but he knew little better than discipline and hardship. Marvin had grown up a good man, but not one who had remained close to his father. Bringing up the boy alone, the shadows of his past looming over him, had left him grizzled. Not only that, he looked grizzled. His hair had become coarse and wiry, his skin hoary and rough, his eyes sunken and heavy. It was only in reconnecting with nature, once his boy had left, that he was able to find any joy again. The colour had returned to his skin and life to his eyes and now he was in a position in which he was being asked to destroy it.
His finger rested on the trigger, and the incredible and ever-growing weight of the gun meant that if he didn’t take the shot soon, he would never be able to.
A shot rang out. The bear fled. Chet pulled the trigger. Things definitely happened in that order. Of that, Chet was certain. There were two shots, one echoing the other. Either that it or it was an echo from the past, the last time Chet pulled a trigger he was reluctant to pull. But he had shot at the bear. The power of the rifle meant that a direct hit would have been fatal, and even a poor shot would have incapacitated the creature, and yet it had been able to escape. He saw movement from two separate clusters of trees. He dismissed the one to his left. It was impossible that the bear could have reached that position without otherwise having been seen. It must surely have been another creature disturbed by the gunshot. Chet hurried over the terrain towards where the bear had been when he fired. Little of the badger remained. A spurt of blood higher on the trunk suggested that the shot had connected with the bear. Chet continued through the trees. In the distance he saw movement in the spruces, the snow on the branches falling as the grizzly disturbed the trees. If he were able to move that swiftly, any injury which he had sustained would not trouble him for long. Chet knew giving chase would be futile. The creature would be alert, and with the sun close to setting, in darkness he would become the apex predator. No, Chet only followed far enough to ascertain the extent of the damage done to the creature. He spotted more blood against the next tree the bear had passed, and only a few small spillages in the snow after that. Yes, he’d have to report in a failure, yes, it would mean patrolling for the creature to ensure the safety of the tourists, but hopefully the bear would have the good sense to stay away, and that would be the last he’d see of it. However, as blue lights stained the serene skyline and wailing sirens disturbed the tranquillity of nature, sending birds flying from the trees and mammals fleeing for cover within them, Chet didn’t realise that that bear could be the only creature that could save him from the gas chamber, the lethal injection, and the hangman’s noose.
Chapter 1
THREE MONTHS LATER
Bryan Knight had a strict routine upon waking each morning, the most important part was to keep his eyes closed, for if anyone was in the room with him, he didn’t want them to know he was awake. Next, he would gauge the temperature. If it were so much as a degree outside his expected parameters, it would be indicative of someone having entered his room. Thirdly, he would listen for anything outside of the ordinary: panicked footsteps in the corridors, distant sirens, silence. Silence was always out of place in the kinds of places Knight stayed. Noticing no abnormalities, Knight opened his eyes and began his routine scan of the room, starting with the curtains, checking every space large enough for a person to hide before scaling down to search first for explosive devices and then for spy gear: cameras, microphones, physical key-loggers. It was a time consuming activity, but it had kept him alive so far. His forty-five years on the planet had seen him face more than his fair share of trials and tribulations, as well as a whole host of personal demons.
He returned to the bathroom upon the completion of his sweep and threw some water on his face, where the lines were deep, permanent, like those chiselled on an Action Man, an Action Man from the 1970s when they were made of harder plastic, slightly toxic. It was his second night in the hotel, and his experiences with the shower meant he wouldn’t use it again. Like his waking routine, he had rules for where he stayed. Bryan Knight had rules for everything. That’s what made him so good at whatever he did. Hotels had to have rooms available on the second floor or lower, so an exit through the window would be possible if necessary, no chain hotels which shared too much information on servers far too easy to hack, and no key cards and magnetic locks. It was getting harder and harder to find places that still had good, old-fashioned keys and in which he wouldn’t be sharing his room with vermin and lice. Proper locks could be deadlocked from the inside and not overridden with a smartphone. This last rule had made it harder and harder to find decent places to stay, and having a piddling shower was a small price to pay for the measures that kept him safe. He’d find a gym and wash after a workout. His muscles were in need of action, and while they were pumping, he could continue to work his mind about the call that had brought him to Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Knight had scoped out the gym shortly after checking into the hotel the previous day. It met all of his requirements in terms of the range of equipment on offer positioned so as to see anyone that came in or left, a rear exit, and decluttered space that would make a swift exit more than possible, even if it would necessitate throwing a dumbbell in some creep’s face.
Bryan Knight started on the pull-up bar. Positioned close to the wall, no one would sneak up behind him, and he had a good eye on the door. It was far from a modern gym with none of the luxuries that made gyms accessible to hobbyists: no fitness trainers offering personalised workout routines and nutritional advice, no digital machines that did half the work for you, and no screen pumping out the latest upbeat pop hits. Bryan Knight hated upbeat pop hits. There was only one rhythm he was going to work out to, and that was his own. No pop tempo could match his pace, no sanguine lyrics mirrored his mood.
There were only three other men in the gym. Two were together and had been there when Knight arrived, one spotting the other on the bench. The third had entered so soon after he had that it raised suspicion, but the tiny gym shorts he wore left very little to the imagination about exactly what he was carrying. There was no room for a concealed weapon in that attire. Knight kept an eye on him until he settled into a rhythm with some-one arm curls with a medium-weight dumbbell. Keeping part of his consciousness in the gym as he continued his work out, Knight recalled the message he’d received from Marvin Adams. It almost didn’t make it through the filter. Knight had picked up a reputation as a man that could help with certain situations, and an awful lot of people had been getting themselves into situations that they’d need a man like him to resolve. He’d never met Marvin Adams, and the name meant nothing to him; he’d known Chet in the time before that, when Chet was not yet a father, and Bryan was not yet a man. But it was the time he’d spent with Chet that made him a man. While he’d made his own rules throughout his life, a number of those had their origins in the lessons Chet had once taught him, back before his time in the Navy and subsequent honourable discharge, back when he lived with his uncle in Buckinghamshire, England.
Before the memories could burn him too badly, Knight took punishment from his workout, pulling himself up again, the lactic acid burning in his muscles as if it were alien blood. This kind of burn was always so much better than the one in his mind. He’d slipped too far back into the past and gone into auto-pilot with the workout, pushing himself just a little too far. Maybe his mind knew that the burning pain in his muscles was much better than finding what lay dormant in his memory.
The killing of the Chinese diplomat, Qiang Hu, had been all over the news over the last few months, but Knight had only paid a passing interest in the case. Had he have linked the name of the assassin, Chet Adams, with his former mentor, it would have alerted him immediately. Alas, as he travelled from state to state, never risking staying in one place for long, the specifics of the case had passed him by. As it was, it seemed a cut-and-dry case. A park ranger with a military background had taken out the politician to derail disarmament talks. And what a grand job he’d done! Relations between the US and China had never been worse, but with the trial about to commence, hopes were that it would soon be over, and the path to peace could be repaved.
