Free Sector C by Phoenix Sullivan

it.”
     
    “How about that place up off of 85 — Triple A? Triple U? Triple Something. Don’t they have exotic animals? Someone told me they were running a research lab up there.”
     
    “I’ll check,” Donna promised. “Meanwhile, Chad and I’ll take the head with us and put it on ice while we see what we can find out. Chad, will you get a plastic bag for it, please.”
     
    “If no one claims it, can I get it back? If it ain’t too far gone, I could have it mounted and put over my fireplace. Wouldn’t that make a hoot of a conversation piece?”
     
    “Well, the Endangered Species Act says a private citizen can’t generally sell or even own pieces of dead animals if they’re endangered. But there are exceptions, and you could maybe get a permit for it from the Fish and Wildlife Service given the circumstances. In any case, Chad or I will get back with you and let you know what we find out. And I’ll email you the photos. Why don’t you kneel down next to the head and I’ll snap a couple of pictures. Chad, do you have that bag yet?”
     
    “Sorry,” Chad called from the truck. “I got back here and forgot what I was looking for.” He returned with a thick black plastic bag. “How much do we need?”
     
    “Just the head, I think. If I remember correctly, a tiger’s stripe pattern is as distinctive as our fingerprints. And anyone who’s reputable will have a head shot of the forehead fur of all their tigers.”
     
    Weather, insects and scavengers had begun their work already, and had almost made it impossible to gather the head without tufts of hair falling out or the skin pulling even farther away from the muscle beneath. But Chad, with a little help from the snip of Donna’s scalpel at last got the head clear of the rest of the remains and into the specimen bag. Along with a few cold packs to start chilling it down, it fit perfectly in one of the empty ice chests Donna carried in the truck for transporting various specimens from the field.
     
    “What about the bones?” Jim asked a bit plaintively. “Are they protected, too?”
     
    Several ribs and an entire foreleg were already missing, thanks to the coyotes or neighboring dogs. “Ground tiger bone is a popular ingredient in Chinese medicine, which is one of the practices the Endangered Species Act is trying to curb. So, yeah, the bones are protected, too. But Chad and I aren’t going to be taking any more of the body with us — and who’s to say another predator or two doesn’t come around and carry off a femur or maybe even the pelvis after we leave. I would just hope the predator is discreet about who they tell and doesn’t let any other predator come and cart any more of it away.”
     
    “Scout’s honor, doc.”
     
    In truth, though, Donna had a greater worry than whether Jim would be true to his word. As she trudged back to the truck through the tall — possibly chigger-infested — grass, she was much more concerned about just how much she would be itching come morning.
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 14  
     
     
     
    SIX WEEKS TO PLAN, market and execute an event at Triple E would have been a tight deadline at any time. Scheduling a megahunt over two weeks, preparing accommodations and meals for over 100 clients, and finding the resources to handle nearly 450 trophies under current conditions in a remote area in Western North Dakota  was a near-herculean effort. But panic, desperation and an undercurrent of fear were great motivators.
     
    Even so, such an operation could not go unnoticed in a county where relatives from out of town couldn’t visit without attracting attention. For nearly ten years, Triple E had been building its facilities and staffing its research and animal care departments under the strictest security. Walt Thurman had even negotiated a no-fly zone over the compound as part of the package when he had first approached county commissioners with plans for a new research facility. Thurman had not