"What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l did you think you saw, anyway, son?" did you think you saw, anyway, son?"

The reporter almost ran into the retired officer, since his attention had been on the forest they had just traversed rather than where he was headed. "d.a.m.n," he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Well...I don't know, really." Dodd had decided along the miles they had already walked that he didn't want to tell this frankly scary fellow what he had seen. Especially not if what he had seen was real, and not just part of his panic at being lost and disoriented.

"What do you mean? When you came bustin' out of that thicket it sure looked to me like you knew what you saw. And it didn't seem like it was no cottontail, either." Grisham was set solid, glaring eye to eye at the torn and bloodied Dodd.

Clearing his throat, getting ready to lie (something he did well, on occasion), Dodd's mind danced. "First of all, I got lost. I thought thought I was following a trail that led around the north side of Salutation. But after a while, I knew that wasn't right, because I wasn't coming back to any of the neighborhoods and the roads. I was just getting deeper and deeper into the woods. I was following a trail that led around the north side of Salutation. But after a while, I knew that wasn't right, because I wasn't coming back to any of the neighborhoods and the roads. I was just getting deeper and deeper into the woods.

"And then, when I came out into that big field-looking place..."

"A savanna, savanna, son. They call that type of habitat a savanna. Got lots of it in Africa, not much of it here." Grisham was rapt, examining his charge. son. They call that type of habitat a savanna. Got lots of it in Africa, not much of it here." Grisham was rapt, examining his charge.

"Okay. A savanna. Yes. Anyway, I really really got lost when I was out there. I couldn't tell which way I had come in. I couldn't figure out which way to go to get back to that trail, which I had lost track of before I got out there in the first place." He picked at a thorn mired in the tender flesh in the pad of his thumb. A bright dot of blood welled up where the thorn had been. got lost when I was out there. I couldn't tell which way I had come in. I couldn't figure out which way to go to get back to that trail, which I had lost track of before I got out there in the first place." He picked at a thorn mired in the tender flesh in the pad of his thumb. A bright dot of blood welled up where the thorn had been.

"You've got no sense of direction, do you boy?"

"Eh. No. I guess not." He cleared his throat again, afraid to look the retired colonel in the eye. A man like that might be able to spot a lie in a man's eyes. "And so I stopped by this big tree that had fallen over. And while I was standing there, this big blackbird, sounded like a d.a.m.ned foghorn...well, it came out of the bushes and scared h.e.l.l out of me."

Grisham was chuckling, now. That was good, so Dodd continued. He wasn't really lying, yet. "And right after that, I put my foot down and this big brownish and orange snake crawled over my foot and almost scared me to death. I thought I was going to have a heart attack, for sure."

"Corn snake. Just a harmless old corn snake," Grisham told him.

"Well, I didn't know that. I do now, thanks. After that, I walked off from the tree, and then I heard something moving in the bushes. I thought it might be a bear or one of those Florida panthers I've read about. So I started running. And that's when you happened along." He smiled sheepishly and looked away, hoping that Grisham wouldn't mention his camera and ask him if he'd taken any photos.

"And that's when you trespa.s.sed, Mr. Dodd. You came across a posted boundary. That's private property."

"I'm sorry. Really, I am. I respect private property. I just didn't see the signs."

"You know, boy. I'm from South Georgia, and where I come from you do not not d.i.c.k around with a man's private property. It's sacred ground, another man's land. You don't go where you ain't supposed to be." d.i.c.k around with a man's private property. It's sacred ground, another man's land. You don't go where you ain't supposed to be."

"I understand. I truly didn't mean to offend you or violate your rights." Dodd swallowed, was aware of his thirst, which he'd forgotten in all of the excitement. He was really parched.

"Apology accepted. Now, what the heck were you doing out here, anyway? I mean, other than trying to see where that trail went? I've been reading your stuff. Hearing some things. What's this about a giant snake? You guys on the level?"

Dodd looked around, trying to see if there was anything to see other than trees and brush, anything that might look like comfort. Why, this man could kill him out there and no one would ever know. Grisham was certainly no stranger to death. His reputation as a warrior was quite formidable. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what's going on in Salutations. They're stonewalling me. I do know that pets are missing. Cats. Some dogs. We think there might be an escaped python or something like that around the town."

Grisham laughed, a big, braying cackle, and slapped his thigh. "You guys guys. You guys are something. You know that? h.e.l.l. It's probably just a gator or bobcat killing some pets. Giant snake Giant snake. You're a real joker, Dodd. You know that?"

"Yes sir. I try."

Grisham's hand was up in the air, Dodd noticed, as his eyes followed it. And suddenly the woods came alive with men. Formerly invisible figures came out of the trees and up from the earth where they had been waiting. Perhaps they had been following along all the while, or maybe they had been waiting here. He didn't know, and now he was truly, completely afraid.

"Meet some of the boys," Grisham said. He nodded toward the camouflaged soldiers edging toward them, their faces painted in greasy stripes of gray and brown and green. As the group closed in, Grisham stepped up very close to Dodd. "Now. You really were were out here to do a story about a giant out here to do a story about a giant snake, snake, right? I mean," and he chuckled, "you weren't here to spy on an old, retired right? I mean," and he chuckled, "you weren't here to spy on an old, retired colonel, colonel, were you?" were you?"

Bringing his hands up, palms out, Dodd took half a step back. "No sir. I swear. I was just here to do a story about Salutations. I promise you I wasn't here to spy on you. Swear it."

There was a long period of silence. No one spoke. Dodd could hear his own breath, but oddly could not hear breathing from any of the others, though there were at least ten of them, now. Gnats sang in his ear, but he did not brush them away. His hands remained out, palms up, toward Grisham.

And finally, the old colonel laughed again. It was a cruel laugh, but welcome just the same. "I believe you, son." Grisham turned his head and barked at his fellow militiamen. "Come on, boys. Let's get this citizen back to his car."

As the formerly invisible soldiers marched off, westward, Grisham patted Dodd on the back, his funny compadre compadre. "Let's go, Mr. Dodd. I'll take you to my ranch and drive you to Salutations. Believe it or not, my house ain't but two miles from here. Me and the boys were just doing a little...practice when you interrupted us." He pointed at one of the men quickly vanishing ahead of them. when you interrupted us." He pointed at one of the men quickly vanishing ahead of them.

"Old Wylie, there. I'll bet you think old Wylie's a n.i.g.g.e.r. Huh? You think he's a n.i.g.g.e.r?" Dodd shook his head from side to side, speechless. "He ain't a n.i.g.g.e.r. He's a Cherokee Indian. G.o.d, I swear I purely love our Native Americans. Did you know that Indians make up only one percent of the population, yet they are eight percent eight percent of our veterans? Did you know that?" Dodd shook his head in the negative again. "Well, it's true. Best d.a.m.ned soldiers you could ask for. G.o.d of our veterans? Did you know that?" Dodd shook his head in the negative again. "Well, it's true. Best d.a.m.ned soldiers you could ask for. G.o.d love love 'em, I say. G.o.d love 'em." 'em, I say. G.o.d love 'em."

True to his word, they soon came out of the woods and began to skirt the edge of a big pasture. There were cattle in the field, and the scent of manure soon came to them. "Beef cattle," Grisham said. "I farm beef here. Florida's great for beef. I've got me a thousand acres out here, and I wish I had more time to farm beef. But, you know, there's more important things to do."

Dodd was quiet. He was going to do his best to keep his mouth shut until he was off this man's property.

"This country is in trouble, you know. Deep trouble."

"I know what you mean," Dodd told him. He was peering around, trying to see if there was a car or truck parked nearby. There didn't seem to be, although he finally spotted a large barn and what might be the edge of a very big farmhouse.

"Take these wilderness types. I'm all for parks. It's good to go out and take in the fresh air and see the sights. But when these socialists socialists think they can tell a man what he can and cannot do with his private property, then things are out of hand. You see what I mean?" They were rounding the end of the pasture. The cattle watched them with great, bored, half-lidded stares. think they can tell a man what he can and cannot do with his private property, then things are out of hand. You see what I mean?" They were rounding the end of the pasture. The cattle watched them with great, bored, half-lidded stares.

"I know exactly," Dodd agreed. Certainly the man had a truck somewhere.

"These government agencies. They're out of hand. Telling a man dry ground is a wetland, wetland, for Christ's sake. It's insane. Telling a company they can't build a factory with jobs for people because of a for Christ's sake. It's insane. Telling a company they can't build a factory with jobs for people because of a minnow minnow." He breathed in. "A d.a.m.ned minnow minnow.

"That's why, you see, we need people like me. Like me, and my friends you just met. We're kind of like a counterbalance to some of that craziness. Something to make some sanity out of it. Make them see the light, so to speak. You understand?"

Dodd nodded his head up and down, his curly hair damp with sweat. "Yes, I do."

"If I ever give you permission to write about me, you remember some of what I've told you. Okay?" Grisham slapped Dodd firmly on the back. Hard enough to clear Dodd's lungs.

Dodd coughed. "Yes. I'll remember it if you think you'd like us to do a piece on you."

"You've probably already heard it on my radio show, anyway."

In fact, Dodd had never heard Grisham's rants on radio. He had actually forgotten the man did did radio. But it was true. He was carried on a number of AM stations around the country, although mainly he broadcast on shortwave. radio. But it was true. He was carried on a number of AM stations around the country, although mainly he broadcast on shortwave.

As they rounded the pasture, the barn and the house came into full view. Some men were closing the doors of the huge barn, and it was very dark in there, but as it was closed up, Dodd was certain that he had glimpsed an armored personnel carrier parked inside. He stared at the ground and pretended he'd seen nothing. And, anyway, a shiny red Chevrolet truck was parked not a hundred feet away.

"You ready for a ride?"

"A ride?"

"A ride ride. Back to your car car." Grisham smiled.

"Yes. Yes, thanks. That would be most appreciated, sir."

The two of them headed toward the new red truck and, once there, Grisham emptied the chamber of the gun and released the full clip. He stowed the gun on a rack behind the seat and put the clip and bullet in an ammo box on the floorboard. Dodd eyed the bullets so that he could look them up and figure out what type of guns he'd seen. "Climb on in, son."

As the reporter opened the pa.s.senger door and slid in, Grisham produced a key and started up the engine. It purred beautifully and soon the air conditioner was blasting. "One more thing, Dodd."

Dodd looked at him. "Yes?"

"On the way out, don't take any pictures. And don't try to snap one of me when I drop you off. You got that?"

"Got it," Dodd told him.

And each was as good as his word.

Chapter Nine.

When Ron was able to turn around with a straight face, Levin's chuckling still going strong, he turned toward Kate Kwitney, the woman he'd just met and who he had already succeeded in alienating. He a.s.sumed, at least, that he'd alienated her. And as he turned to give her his most sheepish expression, Ron noticed that someone else had walked in with her. Merely from the way Kate deferred to this new occupant of the room, merely from her body English, Riggs immediately knew that this was Holcomb.

He was a bit younger than Ron would have thought. He'd heard of him for years, had read about some of his exploits since he was a youngster just out of high school. Ron took the hand that was extended to him. "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Riggs. I'm Vance Holcomb. Call me Vance."

"h.e.l.lo." He squeezed back and looked into Holcomb's face. In his early fifties, the billionaire had obviously spent a lot of time in the outdoors. His blond hair was still thick, tinged just a bit with gray, and his face was permanently tanned from years spent in the sun. Currently, the darkness of the skin around his eyes and nose was accented, since he had obviously recently shaved off what had been a long held beard. The skin on his chin and around his lips was noticeably lighter, more like the complexion he'd probably sported in younger days. His features were appropriately chiseled for an outdoorsman, Ron thought; he was almost lantern-jawed, but just shy of that. There was a long scar along the left side of his face: pale skin that puckered slightly. Ron wondered how he'd gotten that, and why his millions hadn't bought the plastic surgery to hide it. Perhaps he thought it gave his face character. If he did think that, he was right.

"Kate here tells me she stumbled across you on one of the longleaf savannas." Holcomb took a half step away and put his hands behind his back, as if standing at attention. He was as tall as Kate was.

"Yes. But I'd hardly call it stumbling. Even though I was sitting down, eating my lunch, she picked me right out and headed straight over." Ron looked over at Kate, who was smirking at him. "I don't know how she did that."

"Oh, Kate knows the area, she does. I suspect she would have picked you out even if you'd been half a mile away. Kate's got a sharp eye out there in the forest. She's the best d.a.m.ned field taxonomist I've ever met." Holcomb looked her way and winked.

"Well, I thought I did, too. But I couldn't even tell what she was until she was right up on me." Ron shrugged, still feeling foolish despite Holcomb's manners.

"What do you think of the place, Mr. Riggs?" Holcomb raised his arms to encompa.s.s the room.

"I'm impressed. What I've seen of it. You've obviously gone to some great expense." He made eye contact with Kate. There didn't seem to be anything beyond mischief in her eyes. That gave him some relief. "You've got a nice lab here. And you certainly seem to have decent security around the place."

Holcomb shrugged. "Yes. I need the security. You never can tell what kind of problems we might encounter here. I'm not particularly popular with a lot of powerful folk, just now." He sighed. "But I'm used to it. I'm accustomed to making people angry."

"So I've heard," Ron admitted. Indeed. Ron knew that even a lot of people and organizations within within the environmental movement did not care for Holcomb. Some said he that he caused more trouble than he was worth. There was his crackpot reputation, for one thing. He'd spent hundreds of thousands of dollars hunting for the Loch Ness Monster. And he'd claimed to have located a herd of Imperial mammoths living isolated and forgotten in Nepal. The claim concerning the mammoths had nearly proved true, but it had turned out to be a population of very large Indian elephants who were genetic throwbacks to another type of extinct species. While they were certainly mutants, they weren't mammoths. And Holcomb had even gone chasing after the environmental movement did not care for Holcomb. Some said he that he caused more trouble than he was worth. There was his crackpot reputation, for one thing. He'd spent hundreds of thousands of dollars hunting for the Loch Ness Monster. And he'd claimed to have located a herd of Imperial mammoths living isolated and forgotten in Nepal. The claim concerning the mammoths had nearly proved true, but it had turned out to be a population of very large Indian elephants who were genetic throwbacks to another type of extinct species. While they were certainly mutants, they weren't mammoths. And Holcomb had even gone chasing after Sasquatch Sasquatch in the wild country of the Northwest. in the wild country of the Northwest.

However, he also could be effective in saving wild places that were worth preserving. The USA was dotted with lands he had bought up and donated to various state governments around the nation. When he was feeling cooperative was when he did the most good. From what Ron had read, he was not feeling cooperative where this this place was concerned. place was concerned.

"Tell me something, Mr. Riggs. What exactly are you doing here? Why is Fish and Wildlife back here after publishing that ridiculous ridiculous impact statement?" Holcomb had his hand on Riggs' shoulder and was leading him back out into the hallway. Ron allowed himself to be led. impact statement?" Holcomb had his hand on Riggs' shoulder and was leading him back out into the hallway. Ron allowed himself to be led.

"Actually, I'm just here to look for sign of a large constrictor, Mr. Holcomb."

"Vance. Call me Vance. Please."

"Um. Sure. You see...the folk from Salutations gave us a call. Said they were having trouble with pets disappearing. Dogs. A couple cats."

"Cats wander off all the time," Holcomb said. "Wander off and go feral and kill hundreds of birds a year. They're pure h.e.l.l h.e.l.l on native birds." on native birds."

"Eh. Yes, sir. I know."

"Ouch. Sorry, Ron. I get so used to preaching and teaching that I forget myself. Sorry." Holcomb's eyes were downcast. He truly seemed apologetic.

"So, we think it's a python someone released. Maybe even an anaconda. It's not that rare, you know. Maybe one of the soldiers who was stationed here years before this place was decommissioned decided the pet python he'd bought had gotten just a bit too large, and maybe he let it go in the woods, thinking he was doing the right thing. Happens frequently, as you well know." Holcomb had led them down the hallway where Kate had disappeared when they'd come in. The rich man was taking Ron toward an opened doorway at the far end.

"I'm actually surprised they called you on this."

"Matter of fact, the studio seemed rather concerned that they not break any environmental laws. I think they might have handled it themselves if they'd known that there's no Federal protection for an alien species such as a python."

Holcomb threw back his head and laughed. Ron was strangely reminded of Burt Lancaster in his later years. Not so much Holcomb's physical appearance, but his mannerisms. "I can see some lame-brained executive making a dumb move like that. They were probably kicking themselves after you told them." He pointed at Ron. "You did did tell them, didn't you?" tell them, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

Holcomb threw back his head and laughed again. "I like you, Ron. You've got a good sense of humor."

By then, they were at the doorway, and a pale light spilled out of the partially opened threshold. Vance Holcomb pushed it wide. Ron almost fell on his a.s.s.

The room was huge huge. At least, huge for what it was. An office, apparently, but larger than any office in which Ron had ever set foot. A quick guess was that the room was easily three thousand square feet. Twice as big as Ron's own house. It was brightly lit and luxuriously, if spa.r.s.ely, appointed. If Holcomb liked to do good deeds with his money, he was certainly not averse to lavishing himself with it, either. "This is your office?" Ron's voice was a squeak.

"Yes. Yes, it is. I like a big s.p.a.ce where I work," he said. "If I've got to be inside, then I need lots of room to make me feel at ease."

"I see." The place, though huge, was not at all crowded. In fact, for the size of the room there was actually a ridiculously small amount of furnishings.

Seeing the unspoken question on Ron's face, Holcomb addressed it. "I take the j.a.panese view toward furnishings. Just what is necessary for comfort. Nothing more. Mainly, I just want the s.p.a.ce."

"I can understand that," Ron told him, wondering what Holcomb would think of his own cluttered place. Ron followed Holcomb's lead toward a huge desk that was larger than he had thought from across the room, and he had a seat in a big, solid-looking chair that was softly upholstered. Cow leather, he noticed, sitting there. Holcomb was certainly not one of the no-meat, no-furs crowd.

Holcomb took his post on his side of the desk, settling down in a chair that reeked of expense. There were even b.u.t.tons on one of the great arms, and Ron wondered what the h.e.l.l they were for. For just a second he thought of the floor opening up beneath him while Holcomb laughed maniacally. He banished the thought.

"What do you plan to do, provided you find evidence of a snake? Or if you actually find the snake, itself? Supposing that there is is a snake." The rich man found the humidor on the desktop, and he slid the top back along carefully fashioned grooves and took out a pair of cigars. "Do you take a cigar, Ron?" He offered one up. a snake." The rich man found the humidor on the desktop, and he slid the top back along carefully fashioned grooves and took out a pair of cigars. "Do you take a cigar, Ron?" He offered one up.

"Sure," Ron said. "I like a cigar now and again," he lied. He figured if it was a cigar off of the desk of a billionaire, then it had to be expensive and he was willing to see what it was like. Holcomb trimmed both cigars and lit Ron's for him, then his own. The two sat and sampled the flavor. Actually, for a non-smoker, Ron was handling it well. Not bad, he thought. I could get into this I could get into this.

Holcomb chewed his cigar, puffed a great billow of smoke. "Well?"

"Oh. About the snake. Yes." Ron took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at it, looked at Holcomb. "Well, we're obligated to call in someone."

"Someone?" Holcomb's brow went up.

"One of the fellows who contracts with the state to capture problem animals. Usually, it's gators, of course. But sometimes they can come in and take racc.o.o.ns. And I guess snakes." Ron did not like the look on Holcomb's face. It wasn't anger, exactly, but he didn't look entirely happy.

"They kill those alligators. Correct? And the racc.o.o.ns? They skin them all out and sell their pelts. All for being crowded out of their habitat by humans."

"Um. Yes, sir. The alligators and the racc.o.o.n are sold to markets. Or, rather, their skins are. In the case of the gators, even the meat is sold." Ron spread his hands. "The alligator in Florida is no longer endangered. You know that. It's not a problem to harvest them from time to time anymore."

Vance Holcomb leaned forward and eyed Ron, his demeanor no longer completely friendly. There was now an adversarial feel to their meeting. Maybe it had become a confrontation. "And what will happen to this snake? If it is is a snake?" a snake?"

"I'm not entirely sure, if they capture a large snake. I would a.s.sume that it would be worth more to a zoo alive than to someone dealing in leather goods."