In Stark's office, a large, sunny room adorned with several framed color photographs showing the undeniable splendors of the Death Valley wilderness, Paul, Ward, Major Trafford and a young Ranger were poring over a large map spread out on the table. When Howell and Stark entered, the officers started to get up.
“Sit down,” Howell said, his manner and voice even more brusque than usual. He strode over to the table and studied the map for a moment. Sharply he turned to Paul.
“Two days,” he snapped. “Two days — and no results.”
Paul looked grim. “This is no ordinary rescue operation, Colonel, or we'd have picked up Tom long ago.”
“He's actively evading us, sir,” Ward added. “Running away. Hiding. There's no telling how long it'll be before we find him.”
“I want him found,” Howell barked. “And I want him found fast!”
“We've turned over every stone in the Alabama Hills — sir.” Paul sounded testy. “And we've scoured Owen's Valley from one end to the other after that Southern Pacific Railroad engineer saw his ‘weird creature’ caught in the headlight. We have not been able to find him.” He looked at Howell. “We are doing the best we can.”
“Not good enough,” Howell said coldly. “Have you any idea where he is?”
“No, sir,” Paul admitted bleakly. “No, we don't. We—”
“Well, I do!” Howell snapped. He slammed his open fist down on the map on the table. “Here! Right smack in the middle of Death Valley.”
The men looked startled. “Here?” Paul exclaimed. “How could he possibly have traveled that far? In a few hours? It's impossible.”
Howell looked at him icily. “Chief Ranger Stark just had a report,” he said. “A complaint. From an irate citizen of Mexican descent. Claims a hitchhiker — a weird hombre, as he put it — stole him blind.”
Paul shook his head incredulously. “Tom? A hitchhiker?”
“Stowaway is more the word. Seems he holed up in this fellow's empty horse trailer. Made off with the Mexican state treasury — and ate his way through a ton of oranges.”
“At least he's getting nourishment,” Ward observed.
“And this — this Mexican gentleman unwittingly brought him here,” Paul finished.
“Exactly,” Howell stated. “Tom is somewhere out there. In Death Valley.”
“Two million acres of desolation,” Paul said soberly. He turned to Howell. “Colonel Howell, we need a lot more men to cover this area. We owe it to Tom.”
“Time is of the essence, Colonel,” Ward broke in.
Howell gave him an arctic look, then he turned to Paul. “You've got your search teams,” he said flatly. “And Chief Ranger Stark has pledged his full cooperation. His Rangers will be at your disposal also. That will have to do.”
Paul glared at his superior officer. “Why?” he bristled, his tone of voice bordering on rebellion.
Angrily Howell returned his glare. “All right, Captain Jarman, I will tell you why,” he said tightly. “Besides the reasons I've already given you — I don't want Tom to kill himself!”
Paul listened, tight-lipped. He was about to make a sharp retort when Trafford intervened.
“Maybe I can clarify that statement a little,” he said, his voice calm. “As a hunter, Paul, you know that some wild animals, when they are hopelessly cornered, will try to destroy themselves rather than be captured. Or attempt to do impossible things that result in their destruction.” He turned to Ward. “I understand that Tom already was in such a situation — and took a chance against near-impossible odds in order to get away. An act of desperation that might well have killed him.”
Ward nodded soberly. “That's correct,” he agreed. “When he jumped that ravine.”
“Precisely,” Trafford said, with the air of a man who has brought home an important point.
“Next time he might not make it,” Howell added. “Now that he knows he's hunted, we'll have to be extra careful. That is the reason for no large-scale man-hunt, no media-wide publicity. We cannot afford to make him desperate.”
Trafford nodded. “I concur in this, Captain.” He looked solemnly at Paul. “And I must add to your problem, I'm afraid. You will have to reach Tom at a spot where he cannot try to do something dangerously impossible — or find a way to destroy himself before you can get to him.”
Paul nodded thoughtfully. He looked deeply concerned. “I understand,” he said quietly. He turned to Howell. “Colonel,” he said, “what about Randi? Why was she brought up here?”
“Major Trafford and I feel she can be of help,” Howell answered. “Communicate with her husband when he's located.”
“Okay,” Paul said reluctantly. “As long as she stays out of the way.”
“I'm afraid you don't understand, Captain.” Howell corrected him, his voice suddenly tight. “Mrs. Darby is to be available to communicate with her husband in the field. She will accompany you.”
Incredulously Paul stared at his superior officer. “Me!” he exploded “What the hell am I going to do with a female tagging along? I've got nothing against Mrs. Darby. But who needs that?”
He was aghast. Dragging a woman along, for crissake! No way. He'd had intimate knowledge of only two types of women in his life. The Saigon Sallys — whatever their home towns might be. And the cute little hero-worshippers that tumbled in and out of his bed. He'd never run into a female who had evoked feelings of respect, of trust and confidence. Sure, he liked women. But not as a part of a man's world. In their proper place.
And that did not include a rough search-and-rescue operation with a life at stake.
“I need to be saddled with a broad on this mission like I need having a broomstick up my ass,” he fumed.
“We can do without your vulgarities,” Howell said sharply.
“What the hell do you expect me to do?” Paul asked, outraged.
“I expect you to follow the best course of action to reach Major Darby,” Howell said icily. “And that includes taking his wife along on the search.” He looked coldly at the junior officer. “In fact, Captain, I'm making you personally responsible for her safety.”
Paul glared at him. “Is that an order, sir?”
“That is an order!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is she now?” Trafford asked, his voice conciliatory.
“Over at the ranch,” Howell answered.
Trafford nodded slowly. “It will be rough on her,” he said. “But she can be of use. When Tom is sighted. Let us hope it will be soon…”
Howell brusquely cut the discussion short. “You had better plan your next moves,” he said. “In this damned heat Tom won't last long without water. And water is hard to come by in this godforsaken place.” He fixed Paul with cold, hard eyes. “You know what's at stake,” he said. “I repeat: I want Tom found. And I want him found fast! I suggest you start looking. Now!”
He turned on his heel and, followed by Chief Ranger Stark, he left the room.
Paul glowered after him. “I wonder,” he said bitterly. “I wonder what he's most worried about. Tom — or the test results on his precious F-15!”
With an angry gesture he snatched a tourist brochure from Stark's desk. Needing something to do to calm down, he cracked it open. He glanced at the page.
1. Consult with park rangers before traveling into back country.
2. Avoid overexposure to the sun.
3. Stay out of old mines.
4. Carry drinking water.