At the building entrance, he paused to take a final look around the parking lot, acting as if he’d been waiting impatiently all this time for someone else to arrive. Then he pulled the door open and walked inside.
The receptionist at the front counter looked up expectantly with a pleasant smile. “Yes, may I help you?”
“Hello, I’m Dr. Drew Pratt.” Bulatt handed her one of his covert business cards that listed him as a research biologist for the state of Idaho. “I have an appointment to see Mr. Rightmore this morning.”
The receptionist checked her schedule.
“Yes, here you are; Dr. Pratt, nine A.M. Just a moment please.” She picked up a phone, punched in a two-digit number, waited a moment, then said “Mr. Rightmore, I have a Dr. Pratt here to see you. Yes, sir, I’ll send him right in.”
The receptionist looked back up at Bulatt. “If you’ll go inside that door, and walk down the hallway,” she said, pointing to the doorway on her left, “Mr. Rightmore will meet you there.”
At the end of the hallway, as promised, Bulatt was met by a non-descript man in his mid-fifties — wearing casual deck shoes, khakis, and a buttoned-down collared shirt — who could have been, believably, anything and anyone from a grown-up electronics nerd to a covert operative nearing mandatory retirement.
“Dr. Pratt,” the man said, offering a firm but welcoming hand-shake, and then gesturing for Bulatt to follow him inside a large room that looked like a rarely-cleaned electronics research lab. “I’m Bill Rightmore. Welcome to my playground. I understand you’re interested in some of our tracking devices. How can I help you?”
“Well, I was hoping you could tell me if these flashers were made by your company; and, if so, anything at all about the people who might have purchased them,” Bulatt said as he unzipped the black nylon satchel, pulled out one of the flashers from Tanga Island, and one of the collars that had been cut off the two Clouded Leopards found by the Thailand wildlife authorities.
He handed the two items to Rightmore, and then zipped the satchel closed and placed it on a nearby layout table top.
Rightmore set the collar aside on a stainless-steel-topped workbench, placed the flasher under the lens of a dissecting microscope, and began to examine it closely.
“Yes, this is definitely one of our flasher units,” Rightmore confirmed, looking up from the microscope, “a WB-7E, our latest and most expensive model. We’re actually quite proud of these new units. They’re quite small, as you can see; but still capable of sending out a pulsed signal in the IR, UV and visual bands of the spectrum in addition to the standard UHF and VHF frequencies. They’re also self-charging by solar cell; and can be adjusted as to signal output, duration and start/stop time by a remote transmitter. And this — ” he picked up the severed and still-blood-stained collar with attached flasher, “- appears to be an interesting modification of a WB-7E.”
Rightmore examined the collar unit more closely for a few seconds. “Yes, definitely a WB-7E, with a larger solar cell re-charger and battery mounted on the collar.” Then he looked up at Bulatt. “May I ask where you obtained it?”
“One of our maintenance workers found it on a big cat that had been shot in one of our state parks,” Bulatt said. “Apparently, someone had been tracking it for some purpose; but it definitely wasn’t one of our biologists or wardens. That’s why we’re hoping you’d be able to link us to whoever’s using your devices in our area.”
Rightmore seemed to consider the idea for a few seconds.
“We may be able to give you some leads; but — as you probably noticed — we don’t put serial numbers on these particular devices, so tracking them back to a specific individual really isn’t possible. However, this collar modification might give us something to go on. There aren’t many people working in this specific field of research, and most of us know do each other. Would, uh, these people be in some sort of trouble?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Bulatt said. “We were going to turn the devices over to our law enforcement folks, and let them deal with whatever hunting violations might be involved. But, to tell you the truth,” Bulatt dropped his voice slightly, “these trackers are far better than anything we’ve got in our inventory, and we’re kind of hoping we can work out some kind of cooperative arrangement with whoever’s using them in our park. You know, sharing data, that sort of thing. I, uh, assume the WB-7E’s are pretty expensive?”
“A hundred-and-ten each; with a fifteen-percent discount in orders of ten or more,” Rightmore nodded, shrugging apologetically. “We’d certainly like to make them more affordable; but the multi-phase transmitter chips we’re using to regulate the output signal are still very expensive, even when we buy them in thousand-unit lots.”
Bulatt grimaced and then sighed. “I was afraid the situation might be something like that; they’re definitely way out of our budget, as usual.”
Rightmore smiled sympathetically.
“I guess you probably hear that a lot from the state research biologists here in Washington, too,” Bulatt went on. “It’s been a constant battle trying to get the state fish and game agencies in the Northwest to properly fund basic wildlife research these last few years.”
“We do get a lot of queries from the states,” Rightmore said. “And, on occasion, we have been able to come up with much less expensive devices that more-or-less meet their needs.”
“Then you must have to put up with a local friend of mine, Dr. Philip Rainier, on a fairly regular basis.” Bulatt smiled. “Phil’s pretty much a legend in the Northwest animal behavior research community; jury-rigs tracking devices with just about anything he can get his hands on that possesses an electronic pulse.”
“Dr. Rainier has stopped by a few times in the past,” Rightmore acknowledged, “but I don’t believe we’ve seen him recently.”
“Probably just as well. Knowing Phil, he probably took one look at your gear, and then spent the rest of his visit trying to figure out how he could pry your back door without setting off the alarms.”
“Actually, we’ve enjoyed his occasional visits. You could always count on him to come up with some innovative approaches to data collection; but we did have to keep a close eye on him around the stockroom,” Rightmore acknowledged with a seemingly amused shrug.
“Well, for better or worse, he did finally retire; almost a year ago now,” Bulatt said. “I understand he spends most of his time now fishing in Oregon with his two grandkids.”
“Heard a lot about those kids over the years,” Rightmore said. “Good for Phil, couldn’t happen to a more deserving fellow.” Then he looked back down at the flashers and collar. “As for these units, our chief design engineer will be back in the office tomorrow. Perhaps, if you could leave them with me for a couple of days, he may be able to give you a lead on your lion trackers.”
“Actually, I’d like to,” Bulatt said as he walked over to the workbench, picked up the flasher and collar, put them back into the nylon satchel, and zipped it closed, “but I’ve already promised to show them to a group of Northwest park managers at a coordination meeting in Olympia tomorrow. But, if you don’t mind, I would like to bring them back later — maybe in a couple of days — so we can try to get a lead on their owners? I really hate to give up on a potential equipment-sharing opportunity.”
Bulatt caught a brief flash of annoyance in Rightmore’s expression, but it quickly disappeared as the electronics researcher nodded his head agreeably.
“That would be fine, of course. We’re always happy to try to help potential customers, even if their resources are a bit limited.”
Bulatt shrugged. “Actually, it’s been my experience that people with limited resources can always find ways to solve problems, as long as they’re willing to work together.” Bulatt picked up the satchel and extended his hand. “Mr. Rightmore, I really do appreciate your help in this matter.”
“Not at all,” Rightmore said as he led Bulatt back down the hallway to the reception area. “And please, the next time you hear from Dr. Rainier, please give him my regards.”