Chapter 40
San Vito di Cadore, Italy
Duncan climbed the steep path toward a timbered cabin buried at the edge of a pine forest. The home’s wood shingles carried a heavy growth of moss, as if the place had grown out of the woodlands.
Laurent had hired a small bus—normally used to shuttle skiers to the resorts—to take them to this remote cabin. But the driver had refused to haul his bus up this precipitous entry road. So, they had to trek the last quarter mile on their own.
“Our guide lives way out here?” Archie asked, already huffing from the thin air.
Laurent trudged on. “Yes. I’ve made all the arrangements.”
Duncan squinted ahead. “How did you hear about this person?”
“Locals in town. They said no one knows the highlands better. Though, their recommendation came with a warning.”
“What do you mean?” Sharyn asked, adjusting her coat.
Like the rest of them, Sharyn had donned a ski parka, Gore-Tex boots, and a thick cap with furred ear flaps. They each had been given a stuffed pack, holding gear that included rope, a collapsible shovel, a flashlight, and, strapped to the outside, a pair of snowshoes.
Laurent carried the largest pack, crammed with camping equipment and a four-season tent. He turned to Sharyn. “I was cautioned that our guide can be a bit eccentric. Likely from spending too much time alone in the backcountry. The woman is a wildlife biologist. She’s well known for—”
“Wait. The guide is a woman?” Duncan was unable to keep the shock from his voice. Unfortunately, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“And that’s a problem?” Sharyn challenged him pointedly.
Duncan’s face heated up, defying the cold bite to the air. “Of . . . Of course not. I was just surprised.”
“I could tell.”
Archie clapped Duncan on the shoulder. “Keeping digging that hole, mate.”
Duncan had already pissed Sharyn off. After arriving in town, he had suggested she should stay behind with Tag and Naomi.
She had not taken this recommendation well, questioning why he thought he was any better fit for the trek ahead.
She was certainly aerobically stronger than him, what with all her marathon runs.
In fact, it was how Sharyn had first caught his attention, lapping around the Exeter campus in running shorts and a T-shirt.
Days ago—which felt like a lifetime—his arrival at the Old Library had not been happenstance.
While he had needed to pick up the book he had ordered from the British Library, he had timed his visit to be there when she was.
Not that I’d ever admit to such stalking behavior.
Still, Sharyn’s adamance had little to do with her fitness.
Under her parka, she still carried Saint-Germain’s book.
She refused to give up the volume, not even allowing Laurent to take it.
She had been clear why: Wright gave this to me, sacrificed his life to protect it.
I’ll be the Thirteenth Keeper until I’m no longer needed in this role.
Archie raised a question, diverting attention from Duncan. “What’s so eccentric about this guide of ours?”
Laurent waved ahead. “Like I said, she’s a wildlife biologist. She’s been involved with a project to repopulate Alpine species that were decimated over the past centuries. It’s why she spends so much time in the backcountry. From what I’ve heard, she can be bristly. Preferring animals over people.”
“After all that’s happened,” Archie muttered, “I’m beginning to agree with her.”
“In fact, I should warn you that—”
From out of the tree line, a gray-haired woman stalked into view.
She carried a bucket sloshing with milk, along with a shotgun resting on her opposite shoulder.
Only now did Duncan spot the outline of a barn deeper in the woods, in a small clearing with a few penned goats nearby.
The woman’s eyes pinched at the sight of them.
“Signor Laurent?” she called over.
“Yes. And the companions I told you about.”
“You should’ve been here an hour ago,” she scolded. “The storm will be upon us before nightfall. We will be hard pressed to reach the mountain’s northern approach before then. If that’s still your goal. Like I told you before, there is little worth seeing out there.”
Duncan knew Laurent had refrained from sharing too many details with their guide, certainly not the exact location of their goal.
Before leaving the Barbier estate, Laurent had grabbed everything he needed from his hardshell case, including a thumb drive that held a copy of their decryption.
On the long journey here, using topo maps of Monte Antelao, he and Laurent had managed to assign rough coordinates to the glowing blip on the pixelated mountain.
The woman crossed to the cabin’s wooden porch and set down her shotgun. “Let me get this goat milk in the icebox and we’ll be underway.”
She vanished into the cabin, the interior of which was softly firelit. She closed the door, not bothering to invite them inside to warm themselves.
As they waited, Duncan stamped his feet to stir circulation. “She’s a bit gruff, like you said.”
“And what’s with the shotgun?” Archie added.
Laurent shaded his eyes to stare up at the towering peaks, snow-crested and deeply valleyed. “The Dolomites are not without their dangers.”
A low rumbling growl confirmed this.
From the dark woods, a shape slinked into view.
The massive cat crept low, shivering its tawny hackles, baring long fangs.
Its shoulders stood as tall as Duncan’s thigh.
As it crouched, its raised haunches revealed a bobbed tail.
Long tufts trembled atop its ears, which flattened against its skull in a threatening manner.
“No one move,” Laurent whispered.
The door opened and their guide returned, having only donned a mid-length coat, still loose and undone, along with a pack over one shoulder. She also had a large pistol strapped at her waist.
Duncan opened his mouth to warn her, but she spotted the cat first.
Unfazed, she retrieved her shotgun. “Maledizione, Katch, were you off stalking the goats again? You had better not have scared them and soured their milk.”
As the woman crossed to join them, the mountain cat circled to follow, maintaining a wary distance.
Their guide shook each of their hands in a perfunctory manner. Her grip was iron with nothing friendly about it, just professional. “I’m Dr. Bianca Russo.”
“And . . . And that big cat?” Archie asked.
She glanced at the beast. “A former breeding stud. For a project to return the Eurasian lynx to these mountains. Unfortunately, after six years with the program, he’s been deemed too dependent on humans to survive on his own in the wild.”
Duncan gaped as the huge cat stalked back and forth. Its pads were larger than his palms and tipped by black claws. Only now did he note the thick leather collar around its neck, supporting a knob of metal, some sort of a wildlife tracker.
“So, you keep him as a pet now?” Duncan asked.
“Not a pet. Never forget that. While Katch will mostly mind me, he’s still a wild animal. A Carpathian lynx, to be exact. I’ve been working with him out here. A case study. To judge if it might be possible to return him to the wild after all.”
“And you named him Katch?” Sharyn asked.
“Short for cacciatore, though spelled with a capital K.”
Archie frowned. “Like the stew?”
“No, cacciatore means hunter in Italian.” Russo shrugged. “It seemed fitting enough.”
Duncan looked between the woman and the cat. Even the lynx’s name spoke to the biologist’s cold manner. She had not picked out anything overly affectionate, just practical.
“Let’s get going,” Russo ordered. “I’ve a truck parked around back. We’ll take it as far as we can. Then it’ll be on foot from there.”
As they headed off, the lynx tracked them.
Sharyn noted this, too. “Is Katch coming with us?”
Russo didn’t turn around. “He needs training time in the wild. Plus, he’ll keep any other threats at bay.”
“Other threats?” Duncan asked.
She nodded toward the peaks. “Over sixty bears have resettled this corner of the Dolomites. There’ve been a few altercations. A hiker was mauled a few years back. Then there are the wolves slowly returning, which is a great show of the progress we’ve made.”
“Wolves?” From Sharyn’s pinched brows, she clearly did not share the biologist’s enthusiasm.
“Packs are mostly in the French Alps, but they’ve been successfully extending their territory across the mountains. A lone specimen was spotted in the western Dolomites about six months ago.”
Duncan looked at the large cat trailing them. While Katch might ward off such threats, he found little comfort with this furry danger at their back.
As if making this clear, a low rumble—sounding like distant thunder—rose from the bristling beast.
Duncan stared ahead at Russo, questioning Laurent’s choice of guides.
Eccentric did not begin to describe this woman.
He settled on a more fitting word.
Dangerous.