Read Tyrannosaur Canyon Online
Authors: Douglas Preston
Tyrannosaur Canyon (20 page)
"Please, help yourself," he said in a muffled voice.
Tom took an eclair and bit into it. Thick whipped cream squirted out the back and dribbled down his hand. He ate it, licking up the cream and wiping off his hand.
Dearborn smacked his lips, dabbed them with a napkin, and went on. "Stem Weathers wasn't a ferns and fishes man. He was after unique specimens. He spent his whole life looking for that one big strike. Big-time dinosaur hunters are all of a type. They're not in it for money. They're obsessed. It's the excitement of the hunt, the thrill of the strike, an obsession with finding something of enormous rarity and value-that's what keeps them going."
He poured a second cup of tea, raised the cup and saucer to his lips, drained it halfway in a single loud sip.
"I handled Stem's finds but otherwise left him alone. He rarely told me what he was doing or where he was looking. This time, however, word got out that he was on to something big in that high mesa country. He talked to too damn many people looking for information-geophysicists, cosmochemists, curators of paleontology at various museums. It was very unwise of him. He was too well known. The rumors were flying thick and fast. Everyone knew how he operated-his homemade GPR and that notebook were both legendary-so it doesn't surprise
rne someone went in there after him. On top of that, the high mesas is all federal jancj-overseen by the Bureau of Land Management. He wasn't supposed to be in there. Anything taken off BLM land without a proper federal permit is grand tneft-pure and simple. And they only issue permits to a select few museums and universities anyway."
"Why would he take the risk?"
"It's not much of a risk. He's not the only one doing it. Most BLM land is so remote the chances of getting caught are almost nonexistent." "What kind of finds did he bring you?"
Dearborn smiled. "I never kiss and tell. Suffice to say, he never bothered me with mediocre stuff. They say he could smell dead dinosaurs even though they'd been buried millions of years."
He expelled an elegiac sigh, prematurely cut off by a marmaladed scone entering his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and went on.
"His problem wasn't finding the dinosaurs; it was what to do after he found them. The financial side always tripped him up. I tried to help but he was always getting himself into trouble. He was a difficult man, a loner, prickly, easy to take offense. Sure, he might find a dinosaur he could sell for half a million dollars, but just to get that fossil out of the ground and ship it to a lab cost him a hundred grand. It takes about thirty thousand man-hours to clean and prepare a large dinosaur-and that doesn't include mounting it. Weathers cared too much about his dinosaurs and as a result he was always broke. But he sure could find them." "Do you have any idea who murdered him?"
"No. But it isn't hard to guess what might have happened. Some of the lesser folks had taken to following him around. As I said, word got out. He asked too many questions of too many geologists, especially those studying the K-T mass extinction. Everyone knew Stem was on the prowl, sniffing up something big. My guess is he was murdered by a claim jumper." Tom leaned forward. "Anyone in particular?"
Dearborn shook his head, picked up an eclair, and swallowed it. "I know everyone in this business. Black market dinosaur hunters are a rough lot. They get in fistfights at meetings, they rob each other's quarries, they lie, cheat, steal. But murder? I can't see it. I would guess the killer is a newcomer, or perhaps a hired hand who takes his work a little too seriously." He drained his cup, poured another. "These rumors you spoke about?"
"For a couple of years Weathers had been trying to trace a layer of sandstone known as the Hell Creek Formation down into
"Hell Creek?"
"Almost all the T. Rexes in existence have come out of this immense sedimentary formation which crops out in various places across the Rocky Mountains, but which has never been found in
"The Cretaceous-Tertiary boundary?"
"That's right. You see, the Hell Creek Formation is topped by the K-T boundary layer. That layer, which is only half an inch thick, records the event that killed off the dinosaurs-the asteroid strike. There aren't many places in the world where there's an interrupted sequence of rocks at the K-T boundary. I think that's what brought him to the high mesa country of Abiquiii-looking for the K-T boundary layer."
"Why was he looking for the K-T boundary specifically?"
"I'm not sure. In general terms, the K-T boundary is about the most interesting layer of rock ever found. It contains the debris from the asteroid impact along with ash from the burning of the earth's forests. There's a spectacularly clear sequence of K-T boundary layer rocks in the
He chuckled and used the opportunity to eat another crumpet.
"Chicxulub struck the earth moving at a speed of Mach forty. It was so large that when the bottom of it was contacting the ground the top was higher than Mount Everest. It vaporized a major chunk of the earth's crust on contact, blasting up a plume of material more than a hundred kilometers wide that punched through the earth's atmosphere and went into orbit, some of it rising halfway to the moon before plunging back at speeds of more than twenty-five thousand miles an hour. The falling material superheated much of the atmosphere, igniting gigantic wildfires that swept the continents, releasing a hundred billion tons of carbon dioxide, a hundred billion tons of methane, and seventy billion tons of soot. The smoke and dust was so thick that the earth became as dark as the darkest cave, all photosynthesis stopped, and food chains collapsed. A kind of nuclear winter set in and the earth froze for months; that was immediately followed by a galloping greenhouse effect caused by the sudden release of carbon dioxide and methane. It took 130,000 years for the earth's atmosphere to cool down and return to normal."
Dearborn smacked his lips, licking off a dribble of creme fraiche with a large pink tongue.
"All this is beautifully recorded in the K-T rocks in the
"I'm still puzzled why Weathers would be interested in the K-T boundary if he was just after dinosaur fossils."
"That's a mystery. Maybe he was using that layer as a way to locate T. Rex fossils. The late Cretaceous, just before the extinction, was when tyrannosaurs ruled the earth."
"What's a good T. Rex worth these days?"
"Someone once said that all the people who have ever found a T. Rex wouldn't even be enough to field a baseball team. They're the rarest of the rare. I've got two dozen customers waiting to bid on the next T. Rex that comes on the private market, and I'd guess some of them would be willing to pay a hundred million or more."
Tom whistled.
Dearborn laid down his teacup, his face taking on a thoughtful look. "I had this feeling..."
"Yes?"
"A feeling that Stem Weathers was looking for something more that just a T. Rex. Something to do with the K-T boundary itself. But exactly what, I couldn't say. . ."
His voice trailed off and he poured himself another cup of tea.
"Poor Stem. And poor Robbie. I don't envy you, having to break the news."
He drained the cup, ate one final scone, dabbed his face, and wiped the tips of his fingers with his napkin.
"Now it's your turn to talk, Thomas. Tell me what Stem Weathers found. Naturally, you can count on my discretion." His eyes glowed.
Tom slipped the computer-plotted drawing from his pocket and unfolded it on the the tea table.
Slowly, inexorably, but with huge momentum, the great bulk of Harry Dearborn rose from his chair in silent astonishment.
16
MADDOX STOOD ABOVE the woman, who lay on the bed, her blond hair spread out on the pillow like a halo. She had just begun to stir, gave a moan-and finally her eyes opened. He said nothing, watching the look in her eyes go from confusion to fear as it all came back.
He raised the gun so she could see it. "No monkey business. You can sit up, but that's it."
She sat up, wincing as she did so, the manacles around her wrists and ankles clinking.
He gestured around. "So . . . what do you think?"
No answer.
"I worked hard making it nice for you."
He had spread a small tablecloth on the cable spool to make a table, put some fresh flowers in a jam jar, and had even hung a signed, limited edition print that he had taken from the cabin. The kerosene lantern threw a yellow glow across the room, which was pleasantly cool compared to the late-afternoon heat outside. The air was fresh, too-no mine vapors or poisonous gases.
"When's Tom coming back?" Maddox said.
No answer. The blond looked away. This was starting to piss him off.
"Look at me."
She ignored him.
"I said, look at me." He raised his gun.
She turned her head slowly, insolently, and looked at him. Her green eyes blazed with hatred.
"Like what you see?"
She said nothing. The look on her face was so intense that Maddox found it a
little disconcerting. She didn't look afraid. But she was afraid, he knew that. She was terrified. She had to be. And with good reason.
He stood up and gave her his winning, lopsided smile, holding out his arms. "Yeah, take a good look. I'm not so bad, right?"
No reaction.
"You're going to see a lot of me, you know that? I'm going to start off by showing you the tattoo on my back. Can you guess what it is?"
No reaction.
"It took two weeks to make, four hours a day for fourteen days. A prison buddy of mine did it, a real genius with the needle. You know why I'm telling you this?"
He paused but she said nothing.
"Because that tattoo is the reason I'm here with you today. Now listen carefully. I want that notebook. Your husband has it. When he gives it to me, I let you go-simple. But to do that, I need to get in touch with him. He got a cell phone? Give me the number and you could be out of here in a few hours."
Finally she spoke. "Look him up in the phone book."
"Aw, now why do you have to be a bitch about it?"
She said nothing. Maybe she still thought she had some kind of say in the situation. He would have to show her otherwise. He would break her like a young filly.
"See those shackles on the wall? They're for you, in case you hadn't guessed."
She didn't turn.
"Take a good look at them."
"No."
"Stand up."
She remained seated.
He carefully pointed the gun at her ankle, aimed just to the left, fired. The noise was deafening in the enclosed space, and she jumped like a deer. The bullet had gone through the mattress and tufts of stuffing came drifting down.
"Darn. Missed."
He aimed again. "You'll limp for the rest of your life. Now stand up."
She stood up, her cuffs jingling.
"Shuffle over there where those manacles are set in the wall. You're going to take off your cuffs and put those on."
Now he could see fear leaking through on that arrogant face of hers, despite her efforts to control it. He aimed the gun. "It might even kill you if it nicks an artery."
No answer.
"Are you going to do what I say or do I have to shoot you in the foot? Last warning and I'm not kidding."
Once again, he was serious, and she realized it.
"I'll do it," she said in a smothered voice. Water was leaking out of her eyes.
"Smart girl. Here's how. The same key goes to both sets. Switch off your ankles first, one at a time. Then your right wrist. I'll do your left myself." He tossed her the key. She bent down and picked it up, awkwardly unlocked the manacles around her ankles, and followed his instructions.
"Now drop the key."
He ducked in, retrieved it. "I'm going to do your left wrist." He stepped over to the table, placed the gun down on it, went over, and shackled her left wrist. Then he tested the manacles to make sure they had all latched properly.
He stepped back and picked the gun off the table. "See that?" He pointed to his thigh. "You winged me, you know that?"
"Too bad it wasn't centered and about four inches higher," said Sally.
Maddox laughed harshly. "We got a real comedian here. The sooner you get with the program, the quicker this'll be over. Your husband, Tommy, he's got the notebook. I want it." He aimed the Clock at her foot again. "Give me his number and we can get the ball rolling."
She gave him a cell number.
"Now you're going to get a real treat."
He grinned, stepped back, and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"I'm going to show you my tattoo."
17
THE USUAL HUSH prevailed in the reading room of the Amsterdam Club. The
only sounds were the genteel rustle of newsprint and the occasional clink of ice in a glass. The oak-paneled walls, the dark paintings, and the heavy furniture gave the place a feeling of elegance and timelessness, reinforced by the fragrance of old books and leather.