Hard.
At least Lieutenant Mindar agreed with Gearhart that capturing the animals would be extremely difficult and possibly counterproductive. Men could die in the effort. The lieutenant had experienced sedating animals from dogs to deer to mountain lions during fires and floods. He said that not even seasoned gamekeepers knew how much tranquilizer it took to knock out a large predator without overdosing and killing it. They also didn't know which animals were allergic to tranquilizer ingredients such as nicotine and even how an animal would react after being sedated. Some became calm and then suddenly went manic. Some appeared to pass out only to waken and attack everyone around them. Some took a long time to even feel the effects of the dart.
The wait was punctuated by occasional, frustrated calls from Chief Deputy Valentine. Since no one in town had Gearhart's cell phone number, and the mountain roads had been sealed off on all sides, no one could reach him. Reporters, university professors, environmental groups-not just in the county but on the state level-and even Joseph Tumamait had left word for the sheriff to get in touch. Gearhart did not return any of those calls, nor did he ask Mike Valentine what they were about. Plausible deniability plus a true and unshakable belief that he was working for the public good was a potent rebuttal against any form of opposition. Particularly against special interests.
By early afternoon the motion detectors were all in place and everyone was ready to move out. Some of the men were airlifted by the Chinook and others got underway on foot, all of them following the course that Gearhart had laid out. He had consulted with Dr. Honey Solomon at the Santa Barbara Zoo and had learned that on average a lion rests between twelve and fifteen hours each day, most of that after feeding. The zoologist agreed that it was more likely for migrating animals of any kind to move after resting rather than before. Given the distance between the previous kills-approximately five miles-Gearhart calculated the outside radius of where the predators would appear tonight. This time his people would be there, ready to stop them.
Gearhart slipped on a weapons vest that included a serrated hunting knife, a Beretta, and extra ammunition, and accompanied the teams who moved out on foot. When they were in place, he would link up with the chopper and follow the motion detectors from there. The sweet, fragrant scent of monkeyflower and manzanita complemented the golden, late afternoon glow. In places, those sweet, refreshing scents were overpowered by the pungent odor of the sage and buckwheat that spread across large swaths of hillside.
Gearhart was more aware of the mountain smells than he had ever been before. It was like being back in the war, where enemies could be anywhere and were clever about concealing themselves. The ground was too rocky here to hold footprints, and Gearhart told the National Guard troops to examine the sharp-pointed scrub oak and needlelike chamise looking for traces of fur or blood, just in case the animals had emerged to change passageways. Though Gearhart was not willing to accept that the killers were prehistoric monsters, most of the time they had been moving southeast, as Grand had said. So Gearhart concentrated on caverns in that direction. Dr. Thorpe came along to help determine which tunnels and caves were too narrow to accommodate large predators, helping them to focus on the most likely routes.
Just before 3:00 P.M., everyone was in place across a twelve-mile stretch of mountain. The placements stretched into two of the other counties, Ventura and San Luis Obispo, and deputies from both sheriffs' offices were present to assist, advise, and monitor.
Gearhart and the Chinook were airborne shortly after three. The Boeing chopper had a range of slightly over thirteen hundred miles, which would give the units coverage for a good portion of the early evening. The plan was to refuel, if necessary, at nine. Gearhart had a feeling these creatures would show themselves long before then.
The sheriff was right.
Shortly after 4:00 P.M., the pilot of the chopper informed Gearhart that there was movement in a passageway, at an old cave nearly five thousand feet up in Monte Arido.
Gearhart went into the cockpit and looked at the thirteen-inch monitor between the pilot and copilot. It showed a green sonographic image of the throat of the cave. The monitor showed three distinct pulsing white blips moving northeast.
"Could they be hikers?" Gearhart asked.
"No, sir," reported the copilot. "Not unless they're riding dirt bikes. These blips are moving at twenty-plus miles an hour."
In dark caves, Gearhart thought.
Troops and deputies who had been stationed at sites in the region immediately surrounding the cave were notified and picked up by the Chinook.
As the chopper rushed over, the radio operator at the site confirmed the signals. There were definitely "animals" somewhere in the mouth of the cave.
The copilot asked the unit radio operator, "What kind?"
The operator was silent for a moment. And then he replied, "Big ones."
Chapter Sixty-One
Sergeant Andy May peered through his binoculars at the cave. The headset was part of his helmet, a thick unit that put four pounds against the young man's forehead and on the outsides of his eye sockets. In the evening, the regular binoculars would be replaced with night-vision goggles. Four months before, when he had completed basic training and started ATT-Advanced Individual Training for specialized equipment and night-action-May had hated the heavy feel of them. Now, the National Guard full-timer only felt whole when he had them on. When he was equipped and in the field, he felt as though the terrain was his. Just like he used to feel when he went duck hunting with his dad and they'd wade waist-deep in Crescent Lake in his native Crescent City, Florida.
The four other men who were with him also seemed comfortable with their goggles. Three of them were guardsmen and one of them was a sheriff's deputy; all of them were cool and "ready to rumble," as the deputy had put it.
The cave opening was actually a ten-foot-tall, rightward-leaning gash in the face of the mountaintop. It was about five feet wide at the bottom and three feet wide at the top. There were boulders on either side and a ditch in front worn to underlying rock by the recent rains. In front of the cave was about an acre of flat ridge, barren except for dirt and low, tangled scrub. Beyond the cave the mountaintop continued up another thousand feet; around it, on either side, was a light blue sky free of clouds. The air was cool up here, a combination of the ocean wind, the height, and the chill of rainwater that had evaporated during the early afternoon and was beginning to condense.
Private, first class, Arnie Ruhf was the small group's communications officer. Two minutes before he'd been notified by the Chinook copilot about the movement in their cave. He'd immediately informed the other two people at the cave: May; Private, first class, Markle; and Deputy Bright of Sheriff Gearhart's team. The men were told that reinforcements were being rushed to the site.
They took up predetermined positions behind boulders, picked up their rifles, and aimed at the cave. May was on the left end of the line with Ruhf beside him. The sergeant felt a little anxiety coming from Ruhf and Markle, but he himself felt confident. He was an excellent shot and even at twenty-five miles an hour there was enough distance between the men and the cave-about one hundred yards-to give them time to aim and fire.