Thrilled to Death

by James Byron Huggins

  But there was blood, always blood.

  He could not remember more.

  Red moon ...

  He closed his eyes.

  Silence and quiet repose followed horror in the mine. Tipler had passed out, and Bobbi Jo had carefully monitored his blood pressure, pulse, and breathing. She had administered something to help him relax, then sat down beside Hunter.

  Stoic, Hunter was staring at the Magellan Satellite Phone case. Inside was the radio phone that was supposed to be able to reach any location in the world from any other location by sending a signal that triangulated off three satellites to its destination. It was not a line-of-sight megahertz radio as used by most field units. This was a specially modified device that utilized ultra—high frequency modulation and even offered a screen for graphic communication.

  If needed, it could provide a visual depiction of weather, troop movements, climatic conditions, and other factors for as much as one-quarter of the earth at a time. It could, if it were working, tell them to within a distance of five feet exactly where they were standing on the planet, and the terrain around them. Seeing it unusable only reinforced for Hunter the reasons why he had honed his skills at dead reckoning to a fine art.

  His face was studious, but he cast a discreet glance at Takakura, who rested against the wall on the far side of the professor’s cot, and Taylor, who hadn’t moved in over an hour, the shotgun laid casually across his legs. Hunter couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or not, but the commando was unmoving, his face hidden in shadow.

  Bobbi Jo’s voice was gentle. “Talk to me. Tell me about someplace that’s not this place.”

  They were sitting side by side. He glanced over and saw her eyes closed, her face tight. Her head was bent slightly forward, as if in sleep, but like the rest of the team she was too stressed to sleep. The team was alive because of her skills with her rifle. That was as it should be; this woman was a warrior. The surprise was that his friend, the professor, was alive only because she had given him such tireless attention despite fulfilling her combat responsibilities. Now that she had a moment to rest, he was more than willing to offer her some relief.

  He leaned back, relaxed.

  “Okay,” he said gently. “Well, let’s see. I guess I could tell you how, under a big, white full moon the Grand Canyon looks like a dream might look, and how, in firelight, you can feel like an angel walking the crest of a mountain. Or I could tell you about how the woods of northern England are so quiet and mossy and peaceful that it’s like walking through time, to the days of kings and queens, and princesses waiting for their princes. Or what it’s like to finally find a kid that’s lost and scared and cold, and how they love you for it. What it’s like to see their face when they see yours. All of that shared at once, and how it lasts forever. All that happiness, all that joy brought out of fear.” He smiled. “Maybe that’s the best.”

  She smiled gently at him. “I would like to know that feeling,” she said quietly. “I could use that feeling.”

  “You could do it,” Hunter said, holding the Marlin easily. “You’re as good as anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  “Not as good as you.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Nobody is as good as you, Hunter. And you know it.” She smiled with it, meaning it. Of a sudden, Hunter was surprised that they were so physically close. He hadn’t really been aware of it until her eyes closed and her head leaned against his chest.

  She continued, “I’ve never seen anyone like you. I’ve never seen, or even heard of anyone, who could see so much. Who understood so much.” She paused. “Is it like that for you in everything? Is that why you don’t like to be around people? ‘Cause you see so much?”

  Hunter paused, shrugged. “Could be. Never claimed to be too sharp. Maybe it’s just that I don’t need much.”

  “Just that crazy wolf.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, he’s crazy all right. But he’s my friend.”

  “Is he the only one you trust?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “The doc?”

  “Yeah.” Hunter looked at the professor. “Yeah, I trust him. Always have.”

  She was staring at Ghost. The big wolf was resting without removing his coal-black eyes from the shattered wall. “You know something, Hunter. You and that wolf are a lot alike. You both like being alone. You’re both quiet. And you don’t play games. But you’re always there when someone needs you.” She paused. “I could stand being like that.”

  Absorbing the words, Hunter studied her face. She continued to stare at Ghost for a moment, looked at him close. “Do you always want to be alone?”

  Hunter waited, let the silence speak for him for a moment.

  “No,” he said, and she smiled. He looked away, sniffed. “I guess I’d like a family. Always have, I suppose. I ... I really love kids. I just never got around to it. Not the right person, whatever.” He laughed lightly. “Wouldn’t be so easy for a woman to live with me, anyway.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Oh,” he began slowly, “I don’t know. I travel a lot. I prefer a hard life to a soft one. The things that matter to me aren’t money and power. I got plenty of that, but it ain’t life. I guess what I call life are kids, love, a family. Old-fashioned stuff. It don’t go over too good nowadays when people think life is jet-setting and doing as much as they can as fast as they can.”

  “Tell me about your place in New York,” she said. “Why don’t you stay there more?”

  “Oh, I stay there a good bit,” he answered. “That’s where I have my equipment. Sort of like a base. When I’m dealing with all the environmental agencies, or the Institute, I generally stay there. Got all my computers, my library.”

  “You read a lot?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ve got a few thousand books, maybe more. Read all of them. And I’ve collected some things, mostly art. I like art. And I’ve got some work from the Baroque period, some Neoclassical and Romantic period work. I ...you may have never heard of him, but I have some bronze work by Antoine Louis Barye.”

  She laughed. “You’re right. Never heard of him.”

  They smiled.

  “Well, he was a French sculptor. He primarily portrayed animals in tense, dynamic situations. His bronze work is his best, and I invested in a few pieces in Paris. His romantic works, his strongest images of the wild, usually depict one animal struggling against another for supremacy.” Hunter paused a long time, as if even he wasn’t exactly sure why he enjoyed the work. “That might be why I like them so much,” he added softly. “The reality of the struggle.”

  “But you don’t like the struggle, do you?”

  He shook his head lightly. “No ... no, I don’t.”

  “That’s why you’re so good at it. Did you know that? Because you really don’t like it. To you, it’s a terrible thing. So you do it quick. Get it over with.”

  He raised his brow slightly. “Could be.” Smiled. “You’re pretty smart, girl.”

  She laughed. “And something else. I know that, inside, you’re really soft. You don’t want to hurt anything, or see anything hurt. That’s why you repeatedly risk your life tracking these kids, Hunter, when you’re their only hope. You care. It’s also why you stay away from other people, really. It’s not because you’re a hard man. It’s because you’re a hard man who has a gentle heart. It’s not that you don’t care. It’s that you care too much. And that’s not so bad, either.” She smiled gently. “Seems like a good place to be.”

  Turning to her, Hunter gazed seriously a moment. “Some things aren’t so hard.”

  She met his eyes, silent.

  A long time passed, no words spoken, then Hunter added, “You know, when this is over, maybe you’d like some R and R.” He hesitated, easy with it. “I know a nice place where you could relax.”

  She
laughed softly. “After this, I might retire for some permanent R and R, Hunter.” Silence. “Do you really think we’re gonna make it out of here?”

  He frowned, knowing it was the second time she had asked, and she wasn’t someone prone to doubt. She was a professional soldier, trained to fight to the last, no matter what. But as he considered his answer it was clear that she had her reasons; good ones.

  They were cut off from support and hunted by something that couldn’t be stopped by small-arms fire. They were alone in a million acres of wilderness and nobody knew where they were. Plus, they were handicapped with the burden of carrying Dr. Tipler, unable to leave the old man or move quickly as they carried him. Except for the fact that Bobbi Jo possessed a weapon powerful enough to injure the creature, they had no advantage. He had set out to track it; he had succeeded too well.

  His eyes settled once more on the Magellan Phone Satellite System. Something within kept piquing his attention, drawing it back again and again to the instrument.

  It was odd that the Magellan had become inoperative almost immediately, when it was a highly dependable communications instrument. He had used one himself on several occasions without complications or glitches. Something wasn’t right; so much didn’t fit together.

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. Slowly, he reached back and removed a Gerber all-purpose pocket tool from a pouch on his belt. Moving quietly, so as not to attract more attention than necessary, though he knew he would, he knelt over the satellite system. Takakura’s voice came from the gloom. “What is it, Hunter? The system is inoperative. Wilkenson already attempted to fix it.”

  “Yeah.” Hunter nodded. “I know.”

  He opened the case and then the system, which resembled a portable laptop with a phone built inside it. Instantly a screen lit up, stark white. He shut the monitor and flipped it on its face. Then, carefully, he removed the screws holding the back-plate in place.

  “What are you doing?” Takakura asked again.

  “I’m gonna take another look,” Hunter said, indicating that he wasn’t asking permission.

  In ten minutes Hunter was staring at the guts of the machine.

  “Wilkenson already did that, Hunter. I even attempted myself.” Takakura seemed less patient. “I have already told you this.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Hunter took his time, scanning the interior. From his pouch he took out a small flashlight the size of a cigar and shined it over the schematics. “Well, if Wilkenson took a look at it, and you couldn’t fix it either, then it must be seriously broken. I can’t do any harm taking another look.”

  Hunter studied the transmitting panel, examining each aluminum thread and solder joint, each matrix configuration as he slowly worked his way through the printed circuit cards. He was dimly aware that Takakura had stood up in the half-darkness of the cave and was staring at him curiously. The Japanese spoke.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just looking things over again,” Hunter replied absently. “Wanted to make sure.”

  “You can do such a thing?”

  “Well, I pick up a little here and there. I might be able to help.”

  In truth, before taking one of these machines into the field, Hunter had devoted hours to learning the mechanics of the sophisticated communications system, imagining every conceivable worst-case scenario and what might be required to correct the malfunction with the meager tools he regularly took with him.

  Bobbi Jo was leaning close to him, on one knee, the other shin flat against the ground. Her arms were wrapped around her front leg. “Where did you learn to do this, Hunter?” she asked so quietly that no one else could hear.

  He winked, smiled. “Survival is a habit of mine.”

  She smiled back and he continued to work patiently, thoroughly. He didn’t blink as he followed the circuits, his hand moving fractions of an inch. Minutes passed and then his hand stopped, eyes narrowing.

  Stepping forward, Takakura indicated he noticed the change in countenance. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Hunter said. He removed his pocketknife from his waist and gently touched a small circuit board. Without effort he lifted a tiny aluminum wire no thicker than a slender thread of hair. The wire bent easily beneath the blade. Hunter pushed it back down into place, a humorless smile twisting one corner of his mouth.

  “You have found something,” Takakura said, stepping forward again.

  “Yeah.”

  A pause. “Well?”

  Hunter’s voice was distant, still in the board. “It seems that a connection between the voice receiver chip that takes sound received and converts it has been severed.”

  He removed the circuit panel from the machine, holding it high, in the full illumination of the flashlight. “Yep,” he added. “Severed.”

  “How?” Takakura asked angrily. His hands were clenched.

  “No way to know.” Hunter shook his head. “Could have been anything. Or nothing. The cut...it’s clean. But that doesn’t mean anything. The wire is thin, so it’s impossible to tell whether it broke or was cut.

  Silence.

  Hunter noticed that Taylor hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word. Then Takakura was standing over Hunter, glaring down. The Japanese—and Hunter had expected it—was incensed. Takakura despised disloyalty, but even more than that he hated treason. Hunter could see the rigidity in his stance, could almost feel the cold aura. Takakura, in turn, cast glances at Taylor, Wilkenson. He held the look on Wilkenson a heartbeat longer.

  “There will be an investigation into this,” he said stonily. Then, turning to Hunter, “Can you repair the damage?”

  Hunter studied it. The line was so thin it would have been impossible to see if not for the mini-light. He saw where the connection was broken, wondered how to solder it back in place. He tried to recall the melting temperature of aluminum, could only remember that it was relatively low, under a thousand degrees. Okay, he thought, let’s see what we can do.

  First he would need heat, a lot of it, and he didn’t have much to work with. He looked around, searching. Surely there was something he could use to pull this off. He saw the medical kit, spoke softly to Bobbi Jo. “Do you have any alcohol in that?”

  “Sure.” She looked at him strangely.

  “Give me some. You have any ammonia?”

  “Yeah, it’s standard for rashes. It’s an antiseptic.”

  “Give me some of that, too.”

  In a moment he had both bottles and removed a lamp from the wall. After setting it on level ground he removed the glass and turned up the wick until the flame was burning brightly. Then he removed the metal container of the alcohol bottle and poured a little into it, then some ammonia. He carefully positioned the cap at the very tip of the flame, the place where it was hottest.

  “Find me a cotton swab,” he said quietly to Bobbi Jo.

  As he worked, he slowly turned the tip of his huge Bowie in the bottom of the flame, heating it red. After a few moments, the combined chemicals in the cap were bubbling. Hunter spoke distinctly. “I want you to dip the swab in the lower part of the cap. Get some of the gel at the bottom, not the thinner liquid on top.”

  She did, carefully holding a hand under it as she lifted it from the cap. Hunter could see the glistening clear residue on the swab and knew what would happen when it came into direct contact with flame, or in this case, the edge of his knife, now reddened, almost glowing.

  Then he took a 45.70 bullet from his strap, and in a few seconds was emptying its powder on a small piece of wood. Without looking at her he said, “Give me the swab.”

  She complied silently as he took it and very lightly dusted the thick transparent gel with a thin layer of gunpowder. Then he bent carefully over the monitor, again focusing on the severed aluminum strand.

  He would have less than a tenth of a second and the
re was a danger that the intense heat could melt surrounding circuits as it fused this one.

  “Hold the light for me,” he whispered, and slowly lowered the tip of the knife to the circuit, holding the severed sections in contact. Then he lowered the swab, and as it touched the white-hot blade there was a brief flash of brilliant light. Hunter slowly removed the knife, pressing down just once, to ensure solid contact.

  He looked close.

  Yes!

  He had done it. He leaned back, wiped sweat from his face. He didn’t look at Takakura as he spoke. “We’ll give it time to cool, but I think it worked.”

  Takakura offered a slow nod, obviously pleased but still troubled. “Wilkenson!” The voice left no room for misunderstanding. “Why is it that you could not find this severed wire? You are our communications expert, are you not?”

  “Nobody can see everything, Commander.” Wilkenson seemed offended, but not overmuch. “Hunter found something I missed. Simple as that.”

  “Men died because you missed . . .” Takakura let the words settle. “There will be an investigation to see if you are only a fool or something worse.”

  “Investigate all you want, Commander,” Wilkenson said evenly, holding Takakura’s gaze.

  Leaning back against the wall, Bobbi Jo beside him, Hunter was faintly startled to see that Taylor still seemed not to have moved. But now, instead of a shotgun, he held his knife in his hand, tip buried in the dirt at his side. Though Taylor’s face remained hidden in gloom, Hunter could tell that the commando was glaring at Wilkenson.

  ***

  Chaney arrived at the Tipler Institute to find Gina Gilbert waiting in the lobby with slender arms crossed over a white lab coat. Her dark-rimmed glasses—a curiously outdated style—framed wide and anxious eyes.

  He began, “I received your—”

  Then she was moving, hand on his arm, ushering him toward a pair of white double doors located toward the rear of the small entranceway.

  “You’ve got to see this,” she said breathlessly. “I found something else on the electrophoresis that—”