Free Fire - C. J. Box [74]
“Don’t turn around,” Joe said to Demming, not wanting her to reveal to the driver of the truck that they were aware of him. “Let’s check it out in the side mirror.”
Joe leaned over Demming to see. The mirror vibrated with the motor, but he could see a glimpse of a pickup grille a third of a mile behind them. Over a long straightaway, Joe could see the truck better. Red, late-model 4x4 Ford. Montana plates. Singledriver wearing a cowboy hat. As he looked, the pickup driver reduced his speed so it faded into the distance.
When Cutler turned off the highway at Biscuit Basin onto a one-lane road, he slowed down and watched his mirror.
“Don’t see him now,” he said. “He must have turned off. You guys are making me paranoid, I guess. I normally wouldn’t noticesomething like that, but there are so few visitors in the park the truck sort of stood out.”
The road rose into heavy timber and broke through onto a wide, remote plain dotted with dead but standing trees and steam rising from cratered mouths. The trees had no leaves and were bone-white in color.
“This is one of the hottest spots in the park,” Cutler said. “We’ve watched it get hotter over the past four years. That’s why the trees are dead; all of that hot mineral water got soaked up by their roots to fossilize them. There’s lot of activity here, and some really great hot pots.”
Joe glanced at his list of questions.
“What about Clay McCann?” Joe asked. “Did you ever meet him? Did they ever mention his name?”
Cutler shook his head. “I saw his name around but I never met him. And no, the Gopher Staters never mentioned him.”
“What do you mean you saw his name?”
“On some papers, some bio-mining contracts.”
Joe exchanged glances with Demming. “Bio-mining?” Joe said. “That’s twice today you mentioned it.”
“What, you haven’t heard of it?”
“No,” Joe said. He asked Demming, “Have you?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed.
They parked at the end of a dirt two-track that culminated with a downed log blocking the road and a Park Service sign reading ACCESS PROHIBITED. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Joe noticed that despite the sign there were clearly tire tracks in the crusty dirt beyond the log where someone had driven. He asked Cutler about it.
“Bio-miners, I’m sure,” Cutler said. “They have a permit. Follow me.”
It was midday and the sun was straight overhead in a virtuallycloudless blue sky and the day had warmed considerably into the mid-sixties. Joe was struck by the utter quiet all around them as they hiked up a footpath and over a gentle rise. The only sounds were their boots, breath, and the occasional caw of a far-off raven.
“It’s very controversial,” Cutler said, swinging a thermister in a case next to his leg as he walked. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard or read about these projects.”
Joe confessed he’d been isolated the last few months, workingon a ranch near Saddlestring.
“Lucky you,” Demming said. He could tell by her demeanor that she felt strongly about the topic.
“I know I keep telling you how unique the Yellowstone caldera is,” Cutler said, “but up here, wonders never cease, so what can I say? Over the last twenty years, biologists have discovered thermofiles—microbes—that are absolutely unique to anywhere else on earth. I’m no expert, but the reason they find them here is a kind of biological perfect storm—the combinationof the hot water, the minerals, and the ecological isolationof the area—that’s produced all these rare species. Only real recently have companies discovered there are, um . . . properties . . . in some of the microbes that can be used for other purposes.”
“What kinds of properties?” Joe asked.
“Well, one particular microbe has been found that radically assists bioengineers perform DNA typing. From what I understand,it’s really advanced science in that area. Another microbe can apparently speed up the aging process in some mammals tenfold, or so they think. That’s a scary one, if you ask me. And there are all kinds of rumors that I can’t back up, like thermophilesthat can help unlock