Project Hannibal Read online

  Before Estelle could think of further objections, her satellite phone rang—Alaska Eagle Med’s dispatch line. Merde.

  “Estelle, are you still in Wrangell-St. Elias? We just got a call from the park rangers about a visitor with chest pain. I know you’re still on leave, but since you’re right there . . .”

  Estelle sighed. “It’s all right, Robin. I’ll take the call.” The ranger station was literally within sight in this tiny outpost. “I’ll call back in fifteen.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Always on call

  Sera—wide-eyed with excitement—ran to fetch Estelle’s medical bag from their room while Estelle hustled to the historic school that housed the park’s visitor center.

  The park ranger who met Estelle at the door looked hardly older than Sera. “You’re the doctor? I’m so glad you happened to be on site.”

  Estelle fished her Alaska Eagle ID from her pocket. “Is that the patient?” Next to a display of guidebooks and maps, a senior citizen sat on a folding chair massaging his left shoulder. Although the afternoon was comfortably cool, his pale face was damp with sweat. A woman in a pink cardigan hovered at the man’s side, her pinched expression more exasperated than worried.

  The ranger nodded. “He started the tour, but he and his wife had to come back.”

  Estelle pasted on her professional smile to kneel beside the man. “Sir? I’m Dr. Dupris with Alaska Eagle Medical.”

  “Oh?” He peered at the badge, checking to see that her face matched the photo. Maybe her jeans and hiking boots didn’t fit his image of a doctor—not to mention the brown skin.

  “Please excuse the attire. Are you dizzy? Any chest pain?”

  Sera slipped in the door and handed over Estelle’s bag, a many-pocketed first responder kit in bright red canvas with the Alaska Eagle Med logo emblazoned on the side.

  The badge and the med bag seemed to reassure the woman in pink. “He was a little winded. I told him to come back and sit down. It’s the altitude, isn’t it?”

  “I’m feeling better now,” the man said, trying for a smile. “Felt a little nauseous and my shoulder started to hurt. Probably strained it, carrying the luggage.”

  Pulse weak and rapid. A glance at the ankles below his cargo shorts confirmed swelling. Estelle slung on her stethoscope to listen to the man’s heart. “Are you under a doctor’s care? Taking any medication?”

  “Not me. I’m healthy as a horse.”

  Only if the horse is elderly, overweight, and has an undiagnosed heart condition. Estelle poured on the Southern charm. “I hope so, sir. But if you were my husband, I’d be sending you to the hospital. Those symptoms—pain in your chest or shoulder, feeling weak or nauseous, sweating, and light-headedness—could be signs of a heart attack. Alaska Eagle can have a plane here in an hour to take you to Fairbanks Memorial. They have a fine cardiology unit there.”

  Cargo Shorts made it to his swollen feet, Pink Cardigan lending him a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. I appreciate your checking on me, but I’m fine now.”

  Estelle exchanged a glance with the ranger. Can’t force a man to be sensible.

  The ranger drew herself up, arms folded. “Where are you staying, sir? Did you fly in?”

  “We’re at the lodge. We’re booked on the ten o’clock flight tomorrow.”

  Estelle was glad the couple wasn’t planning to drive out: the only road to this part of the park was sixty unpaved miles—with no services and no cellphone coverage—over what had originally been a train track.

  “My niece and I are at the lodge, too,” Estelle said. “You can call on me during the night if you feel worse.” She gave them her card with the Alaska Eagle emergency number on it and added her room number.

  With Pink Cardigan at his side, the man shuffled out.

  The ranger turned to Estelle as she repacked her med bag. “Sorry to have bothered you. Will he be all right, do you think?”

  Estelle shrugged. “Until next time. You were right to recognize the symptoms and make the call. I’ll see them at breakfast tomorrow and urge him to get a thorough checkup.”

  After a quick call to Robin—possible mild heart attack, patient refused transport—Estelle walked with Sera back to the lodge. The couple were a hundred yards ahead, walking slowly, with Pink Cardigan fussing at Cargo Shorts the whole way. Good. She’d make sure he got that EKG.

  “Does that sort of thing happen often?” Sera asked.

  “Getting my leave interrupted by an emergency? Not very, although technically, I’m always on call. Have someone swear they’re fine when they’re obviously not? Happens all the time.”

  Estelle had come to Alaska fifteen years ago, looking for change after a mind-numbing year in a Chicago emergency room. Change was what she got: in Alaska, she loved the soaring scenery and a medical practice with a pace that reminded her of a Louisiana after-church social hour. How’s your mom an’ them? Been fishing lately? Let’s see how that blood pressure’s doing today. Estelle’s down-home social skills paid off in health dividends as the fiercely independent Alaskans unbent enough to reveal their problems. Doc Dupris, I don’t want to bother nobody, but these days I’m not feeling . . . walking . . . seeing so good. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I got an ache in my ear . . . my arm . . . my belly . . . my heart.

  Sera gazed at her, brow furrowed, as if seeing her aunt in a new light. “How old were you when you knew you wanted to be a doctor?”

  Estelle smiled at the memory. “About your age, I guess. Your mom got knocked out in basketball practice. Your gran was too rattled to drive, so I had to take Marie and Gran to the hospital. Marie was fine, just a couple of stitches—you remember that little scar above her eyebrow? But Gran was a wreck, talking a mile a minute like people do when they’re upset.”

  Sera nodded—she’d probably seen a lot of that when Marie died.

  “Gran was focused on Marie, but I was watching the doctor. She was calm and cool and knew exactly what she was doing. She gave orders to the nurses, settled Gran down, and stitched Marie up, all at the same time, then went on and handled the next case, no fuss. And she was Black. I thought, ‘I want to do that.’ To be able to take charge of a bad situation and make it better.”

  “It sounds like a calling, like becoming a nun.”

  Estelle laughed. “I’d be a lousy nun. I’m a pretty good doctor, though. Why all the questions? Are you thinking about a career in medicine?”

  Sera scrunched her nose. “I’m not cut out for that. I’d like to do something, though. Something important. I don’t want to look back on my life and find I didn’t make any difference.”

  Estelle squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll make your mark, chérie. You’ve got time.”

  “Malala won a Nobel prize when she was my age. Simone Biles was a world champion, headed for the Olympics.”

  “Jesus, chérie, you set the bar high! So what do you want to do to change the world?”

  Reaching the lodge’s patio, Sera paused, her gaze straying toward the mountains. “I don’t know. Something with wildlife, maybe, like the park rangers. Or something to help the environment. Last year, I did my school service hours cleaning up the riverbank one Saturday a month until . . .” She bit her lip.

  Until her mother did a runner off the bridge into that same Mississippi River.

  “I’d like to do something like that again,” Sera added quietly. “But someplace new.”

  Estelle remembered being that idealistic—and how she’d had to get away from her toxic home to make her dreams a reality.

  Could she really send Sera back to New Orleans, where the river that took her mother’s life was an ever-present reminder winding through the heart of the city? To live with her bickering, guilt-ridden grandparents? To cope with her grief in a community that had a generations-long memory for even the tiniest of human failings? To the place where every person she met would see her and think, Sera, oh, yes, her mother killed herself, you know.

  Estelle had never a
spired to parenthood, but there was her only sister’s only child, hurt and angry and needing a home.

  How hard could it be? After all, Sera was nearly an adult. She didn’t need Estelle to be a mother, she just needed a quiet place to stay for a while. Surely Estelle could give her that?

  Estelle squared her shoulders, readying herself for the plunge. She’d really like a bourbon on the rocks right about now. “Chérie, if you’re serious about studying nature and ecology, you’re in the right state—Alaska has more wild places than anywhere else in the US.”

  Sera perked up. “Does that mean I can stay? Oh, thank you! You’re a lifesaver.”

  Estelle held up a warning finger. “There will be rules. No drugs, no alcohol, no tobacco, and no pot—I see too much of that in my practice. Always let me know where you’re going and always have your cellphone on you. And on any matters involving your health, physical or mental, I get the final say.”

  Sera grinned. “I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

  And that, Estelle thought, was a promise no teenager could possibly keep.

  CHAPTER 5

  There’s hope for them all

  Five days after Major Butterick’s visit, Anjou was back in the observation blind, watching as Luis Cortez and his partner Brandon loaded eight mammoths into two livestock carriers.

  My mammoths. An achievement akin to humans landing on the moon. To the eradication of COVID-19. In a matter of weeks, the world would know the name Henri Anjou as the resurrector of lost species.

  He imagined the interviews, the applause, and his modest responses. All a team effort. Why yes, of course we could manage with other species, with the proper resources. And the resources would come flooding in, not just to reinstate funding for the mammoths, but to bring back other animals that had captured the public interest. Saber-toothed cats, the giant ground sloth . . . with my techniques, there’s hope for them all.

  One by one, Cortez and Brandon cajoled the mammoths up the loading ramps, luring them with bits of carrots and turnips, locking each burly animal into a reinforced stall within the trailer.

  Cortez was good at managing the livestock, no question. Ruby, Emerald, Topaz, Pearl . . . Cortez called each mammoth by name, knew each one’s idiosyncrasies. Anjou couldn’t tell most of them apart, but he knew their genetic makeup better than his own—that was the important part.

  Nearby, Ginger held a whispery phone conversation with some old crony. She was speaking Korean—no doubt one of Ginger’s extensive network of helpful contacts.

  For Anjou, there was little left to do. In accordance with Ginger’s backup plan, mammoths Silver and Gold had departed the day before for some hidden pasture on Alaska’s west coast. The lab equipment had been packed and loaded into shipping containers for storage. Ginger had rented an out-of-the-way temporary home for the two of them. Better to stay out of sight, the valuable equipment safely locked away and the two breeding females under wraps, until the news broke and the public clamored to know more about the mammoths.

  All the animals had been loaded now except Diamond. That mammoth, even Anjou could recognize. At more than three tons, he was the largest land animal in North America outside of a zoo.

  Brandon wisely took refuge with one of the drivers in the truck’s cab, leaving Cortez to handle the brute alone. Cortez didn’t seem to mind—he’d raised Diamond and the others from infancy, from the time when he’d fed them from bottles. Apparently fearless, Cortez calmly coaxed the big bull into the transport.

  Ginger sidled up to Anjou. “Henri, we have a problem.”

  “Whatever it is, it can wait until we get the herd on the road.”

  “That was my friend in Washington. The army has formally terminated Project Hannibal.”

  “Um. Disappointing, but not unexpected. It won’t matter now. In a week or two, the herd will be in the wild. Once the news . . .”

  “In a week or two, the herd could be dead.”

  Anjou turned to stare. A joke? Ginger had never shown any sign of having a sense of humor.

  She nodded, completely serious. “The army isn’t just ending Project Hannibal’s funding, they’ve decided to terminate the product of the project—to slaughter the animals.”

  “Slaughter them?” Anjou felt the blood drain from his face. Twelve years of work. His hope for scientific recognition, for fame, for the rewards that ought, by right, to accompany his achievement. He’d brought back mammoths, for God’s sake!

  He grasped Ginger’s sleeve. “Who can we call? The vice president, she was interested. That senator . . .”

  Ginger shook her head. “My contact informs me this decision was taken at the highest levels. With the election coming soon, the administration has decided to back the homestead movement whole-heartedly. They’re eliminating all evidence that they funded ‘mutant’ animals that might get in the way of drought-stricken Midwest farmers making a new start in Alaska.”

  All the work, all the planning . . .

  “There must be something we can do,” Anjou whispered. “I’ll tell Cortez to take them into Canada. Out on the tundra, the border’s just a line on the map.”

  “Canada won’t defy the US military,” Ginger said.

  “I’m not giving up! We’ve done so much, come so far . . .”

  Ginger held his arm in a cat’s-paw grip, red-painted nails ever-so-lightly digging into his skin. “This changes nothing. Luis will keep the mammoths out of sight. Let the army waste its resources searching for a handful of animals in the vastness of the Arctic. Meanwhile, we’ll do as we said. As soon as Luis gets the herd safely to the target point, we’ll begin the campaign to enlist public sympathy.”

  Anjou began to feel a little brighter. “You’re right. Hell, the public screams if the forest service tries to cull a few feral horses or wild deer. They’ll go nuts over killing a mammoth. But still . . .” He sobered, picturing Diamond, his exquisite creation, cut down in a hail of machine-gun fire from a hovering helicopter. “This is the army. Killing is what they do best.”

  Ginger made calming motions with her hands. “Don’t despair. Even if the worst happens, even if we lose the main herd, the army doesn’t know about Gold and Silver. As long as we keep those two mammoths hidden, we have hope. Eventually, the administration’s position will change. Environmental concerns will once again be seen as essential for national security.” Her smile dimpled her cheeks. “And the first time some hunter brags online about bagging a mammoth or offers a tusk for sale, sympathy will increase tenfold.”

  Anjou cringed at her cold-bloodedness, but he knew she was right. “Publicity is the key. We’ll have to rally every tree hugger in the country to save the mammoths.”

  Cortez had all eight mammoths loaded in the transports now. With shouts and bangs, the drivers stowed the loading ramps and locked the cargo doors.

  Anjou nodded toward the trucks. “Cortez will go ballistic when he finds out the army wants to kill off his pets.”

  “Then we won’t tell him.”

  Cortez gave a final wave as he and his partner boarded the passenger compartment of the lead truck. With a noisy grinding of gears, the two mammoth transports pulled out.

  Ginger patted Anjou’s hand. “Don’t worry. Soon the US government will come to us, begging to reinstate Project Hannibal.”

  Anjou gazed after the departing mammoths. “And if they don’t?”

  Ginger nodded sagely. “Let me think about that. It’s always good to have a backup plan.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The worst road in America

  In the lead truck’s passenger cabin, Luis turned his tablet to the video feeds from the cargo bays. The mammoths looked quietly miserable, heads down, ignoring the stacks of hay, swaying with the trucks’ jerky movements. Don’t worry, babies. Soon you’ll have a whole new world to explore.

  Beside him, Brandon sighed happily. “Three weeks in the wild on someone else’s dime, then the rest of the summer off. Ginger must have put something in Anjou
’s coffee for him to be so generous.” He stretched his six-foot three-inch frame as far as the compartment would allow. “I like old Ginger. She’s kind of like the doting aunt I never had.”

  Only if you’re nephew to a barracuda, Luis thought. But Brandon, never the most penetrating of men, was easy to win over with a smile and an attaboy.

  Luis looked up. “You packed the wind-powered generator?” Keeping his tablet charged was crucial to the mission: it was loaded with detailed topographic maps and able to track the mammoths’ positions by satellite from a transponder chip inserted under each animal’s skin.

  “Stop worrying,” Brandon said. “We’ve got the portable generator and everything else on the list. All first-class stuff, very light. Down sleeping bags, nice pop-up tent. Four weeks’ worth of food, just in case. I told Anjou that if you and I had to camp out in the bush, I was damn well going to pick the equipment out myself. I mean, what does he know? He thinks ‘roughing it’ means no room service.”

  “I’m sure it’s all fine.” Luis’s teeth rattled as the trucks bounced over anonymous backroads, bumping over broken pavement and gravel.

  He zoomed the camera in on Diamond. The big bull stamped and shook his head, obviously unhappy at being enclosed.

  Brandon chattered on. “I hope the new facility is a little closer to a town—or at least to a bar. I like the outdoors as much as the next guy, but for vacation, you know? For other times, I like a real bed.” He leered and patted Luis’s knee. “So, where do you want to go after the herd’s off our hands? We should travel, go somewhere fun. How about London? Or maybe Paris, I hear that’s nice.”

  Luis kept his attention on the feeds. “Yes, you should. I’ll be busy looking after Silver and Gold.” He’d told Brandon that the two backup mammoths were separated because their pregnancies were in a critical stage.

  “Oh.” Brandon sighed and gazed at Luis with soulful eyes. “Shit, I was hoping we’d get away. Spend some quality time together.”