S. Rainsford, now he would be a formidable adversary. Adding his friend, James Reece, to the draw would be the hunt of a lifetime.
Aleksandr had once managed to attract a famous hunter from the States to hunt brown bear with him on the Kamchatka Peninsula. Despite the way he was portrayed in his articles and television series, the man was actually hopeless without a guide. When Aleksandr turned the tables and made him the prey, he wept and begged before becoming desperately lost. His ineptitude and lack of spirit took almost all of the pleasure out of the hunt; Aleksandr had seen better woodsmanship from Moscow prostitutes than he had from the overweight American.
Rainsford and Lieutenant Commander Reece would be fighters.
Finally, a challenge.
Aleksandr made his decision. He pulled an aging paper Rolodex from his desk drawer and searched for a number that he hadn’t dialed in ages.
CHAPTER 36
Kumba Ranch, Flathead Valley, Montana
THE SUN WOULD RISE at 6:55 a.m. Raife had been awake since 4:00 a.m. He turned off his alarm so as not to disturb his pregnant wife and slipped out of bed. He sipped black coffee as he dressed in a light wool shirt and pants, pulled on a knit stocking cap, and laced his buffalo hide Courteney boots. Everything he wore was designed for maximum mobility and stealth.
With the prospect of running into a grizzly bear a real one, Raife slipped his inherited 1911 handgun into the leather holster behind his right hip. He remembered his dad’s joke about .45-caliber pistols and giant predators. “Why do you file off the front sight of your 1911 when going into bear country?” his father had asked. “So it doesn’t hurt as much when the grizzly shoves it up your ass.”
Raife had never found it very funny.
It was only a ten-minute drive from his home. He made the trip with just his parking lights on so as not to spook game or ruin his night vision. He donned his pack, picked up his recurve bow and quiver, and stood silently in the darkness to acclimate himself to the sounds of the predawn morning and confirm the speed and direction of the light breeze. The morning was cool but there was no frost. Satisfied, he began the hike toward his glassing spot. He wanted to be in position to observe the buck well before the first rays of light illuminated the valley.
With practiced efficiency, he climbed the steep grade, the simple tire soles of his boots legendary for quiet stalking. At forty, Raife was in the best shape of his life and, given the field in which he’d spent the early part of adulthood, that was saying something. The sky was just starting to lighten to the east, the nighttime display of stars washed away by the first rays of sunlight. He set himself up for a long morning of glassing, arranging his tripod and spotting scope before pulling an apple from his pack. He took a bite as he swung the powerful scope toward the buck’s lair, its coated German lenses gathering every bit of ambient light.
The buck should have been out feeding on the mountainside at this point in the relative safety of the darkness, but there was no sign of him. He pulled up his binoculars and began to scan, trading magnification for the wider field of view. Nothing.
The slight change in temperature would not be enough to move the animal from his summer range, so that wasn’t it. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d watched an animal for weeks, only for it to disappear the moment that the hunting season opened. Prey species seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the hunt. Raife thought about his conversation with Reece the previous evening and took an extra moment to survey the high ground behind him before turning his attention back to the scope. As the sky turned from gray to pink, it became increasingly obvious that the buck had left his hide. Something had spooked him. Wolves, maybe? It was conceivable. A poacher? Not out of the realm of possibility. Raife needed to adapt. The wind was still light but steady and the thermals wouldn’t be much of a factor this early in the day. It was time to move. The son of Rhodesia packed his spotting scope and picked up his bow before setting out quietly down the draw.
Raife’s tracking mentor had been a master. Melusi was a member of