She had refused binoculars but held a Generation III NightQuest starlight scope in a hand. Hardly larger than her fist, the two-pound monocular allowed light amplification 45,000 times greater than what was visible with the naked eye. At intervals of two to three minutes, she would raise it and scan the fence, the brush, and surrounding trees before lowering it in stoic silence.
There were perhaps twenty personnel positioned on the building’s four sides. Most of them carried lightweight automatic weapons, but there was also an M-60 armed with a gunner and a second soldier, a belt runner, on each wall. The compound itself swarmed with four- and six-man attack squads, and canine units were working in pairs, patrolling the fence line.
Measuring the multilayered security, Bobbi Jo knew that, if she were attempting to defeat the security, she would have called it a “no-go.” Nothing, surely, could either steal or fight its way through that hive of dogs, guns, and soldiers. Not to mention the steel-mesh fence powered to twenty-five thousand volts; the generators in the back shed roared with the maximum electrical output. And a ten-thousand-gallon tanker was parked close to ensure that the two-ton machines had enough gasoline to last the night.
No one spoke to her because it was understood; snipers preferred to work alone. Utter concentration was paramount in the job, and distractions were despised. Without facial expression she wondered where Hunter was, and if he was safe.
The eerie atmosphere of secrets combined with the forthright promise of impending mortal combat continued to wear upon her emotional control. She was trained to control her feelings. She was all too aware that, for him, her control was vanishing.
A voice came from behind her.
“Have you seen Hunter?”
Bobbi Jo turned and saw the marshal, Chaney, with the big man called Brick. They were carrying the Weatherby .454 double-barreled hunting rifles, and each sported a bandoleer of the five-inch-long brass cartridges. Brick also had an AK-47 slung across his back, and six full magazines and four antipersonnel grenades strapped on his regulation-issue gun belt.
“No.” She frowned. “I thought he was with you, Chaney.”
“No.” Chaney shook his head, brow hardening. “He said he was coming up to check the roof, to make sure you were okay. Then I think he said he was going to walk the perimeter.”
Bobbi Jo’s eyes narrowed in worry. “No. I haven’t seen him. How long ago was that?”
“Twenty, thirty minutes.”
Brick grunted, soft and low, turned his head in thought. No one spoke for a time and then Bobbi Jo added, “Maybe somebody should go look for him. It’s not right for Hunter to say he’s gonna do something and not do it.” She paused with heat. “He’s not like that.”
Chaney nodded.
“All right,” he agreed, making a half-turn. “I’ll go take a look around.”
“I’ll do it,” Brick broke in, placing a beefy hand on Chaney’s arm. “I know this kind of setup. Worked one in the Philippines, and there’s lots of places a guy can get confused, especially back there around the motor pool. If he’s doing some real serious checking, I could speed things up for him and then we can all rendezvous back here.”
“Sounds good,” Chaney acquiesced. “But tell Hunter to get back here as soon as he can. He understands that thing better than anyone. We can use him to anticipate its attack.”
Bobbi Jo spoke up. “Hunter doesn’t want to be on a roof, Marshal. He’ll want to be out there with it, hunting it just like it’s hunting him. That’s what he’s best at.”
“What he’s best at, Lieutenant,” Chaney responded with an edge of impatience, “and what we need are two different things. Hunter is the only one that can get inside that thing’s mind. So if we have him coordinating our counterattack, we might fare a damn sight better than the other installations that went to ground. Colonel Maddox is in charge, but I think he’d agree with me. The more we can anticipate what this creature is going to do, the better our chances are of countering. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we might just survive this goddamn fight.”
Brick was walking away, head down in intense thought. “You guys settle it. I’m gonna do some looking.” He turned back with an agility that belied his considerable bulk. “You said Hunter told you he was coming up top?”
“Yeah,” replied Chaney.
Brick nodded. “Where was the two of ya when he told you that?”
“We were in the basement, looking over the inventory. But he came up before I did.”
“Huh.” Brick turned back to the sniper. Chaney opened his mouth to continue but Bobbi Jo cut him off. “Listen, Marshal, I’m not in the mood to argue with you. I just take orders. I don’t give them. Whatever suggestions you have for Hunter, you can settle them with him.”
“Good enough.” Chaney nodded and walked across the antenna-strewn roof toward Colonel Maddox, who had taken position in the command center. Field telephone lines hooked with numerous lights were manned by a sergeant, and a young communications officer was dispatching on UHF radios.
Maddox, hands clasped behind his back, paced back and forth in their midst. “ ‘Evening, Marshal,” he said distractedly as Chaney arrived. He signed a clipboard that was presented and absently checked the .45 at his waist. It was the first time Chaney had seen him in battle dress. Chaney wasted no time, saying, “Colonel I think it would be advantageous if we had Hunter in the command center instead of on the grounds.”
Maddox looked emptily at him. “Hmm?”
“I said,” Chaney repeated, “Hunter is the only one who can anticipate what this thing might do, and we might be able to use him in the command center.”
Maddox was nodding, but Chaney wasn’t certain if the colonel had heard what he said. It was to be expected; Chaney had seen the same look in ‘Nam when a battalion of Viet Cong would have an isolated firebase surrounded, waiting only for darkness to fall so they could launch a merciless, scorching series of attacks that would continue until dawn. Once the battle began, Chaney had never had time or emotion for fear; he was too busy staying alive. But, in the long period when they would be waiting together for nightfall, they all had too much time to contemplate the oncoming horror and knew nothing but terror. Those were the times, Chaney often thought, that he had hated the most and remembered the most. He decided to try communicating with Maddox more forcefully.
“Colonel,” he said, stepping up, “we need someone in the command center who can help us anticipate what this creature might do! I suggest we ask Hunter to come up here as an adviser!”
Maddox waved. “Oh, yes, of course. Uh, tell Mr. Hunter his presence is requested in the CP.” He glanced nervously at the surrounding trees. “And do it quickly.”
***
Maintaining severe emotional control, Hunter mentally pictured what he knew about the room—the locations of various equipment, doors, cables, terminals.
He didn’t know what, exactly, he was going to do. But he had already decided that Hamilton was not leaving his side. He tried to delay what seemed inevitable and, as he spoke, realized that he truly wanted an answer.
“I suppose it was you all along?” he asked.
Hamilton laughed dismissively. “Of course not, Mr. Hunter. It was never ‘only’ I. In fact, the tentacles of this exercise reach deeply into a dozen, oh, how shall I say it ...domains?” He paused. “Yes, domains. Seems a strange word. But many are involved. Men of unlimited wealth, some in government, some in the private sector, all wishing to inherit the benefits contained within this fantastic specimen of evolution. Strange how I never sought to classify those who have labored beside me, until now. I merely considered them part of a higher system, or the heart of the system, you might say.”
“And what system would that be?”
Hunter actually wanted to know, now that he had come this far and was likely to pay a severe price for the knowledge he obtained. He added sull
enly, “Sounds like a good crew, Hamilton. A system of rich sleazeballs that murdered a young woman to protect some apeman that died ten thousand years ago.” He shook his head.
The scientist’s entire body shook with an explosive laugh, and Hunter instantly checked his mercurial impulse to kill Hamilton with a single move. But even as the reaction seized him, Hunter had already shut it down. His hand never moved.
“Really, Mr. Hunter, I may have overestimated your worldliness,” Hamilton responded. Although the smile failed to fully fade, he grew still, staring with that impenetrable arrogance. “Do you really presume that all ...this...could be the work of a single man? Or even a single agency? No, Mr. Hunter, it was a coalition, you might say. People who forever remain in the shadows.”
Hunter frowned, stoic.
“Really, Mr. Hunter, you disappointment me and surprise me simultaneously. First you deduced, and correctly I might add, that there was a hidden level to the institution. And other deductions you reached regarding my poor ...”
Hunter interjected: “Luther? Your poor Luther?”
Hamilton’s smile was benign. “Yes, Mr. Hunter – my poor Luther. Or the creature, as you now call it, who was once a respected colleague of mine. Yes, his name was Luther Friedkin.” He shook his head in the mildest remorse. “Poor Luther, he did not know what manner of game he played. Always impetuous. Always rushing ahead of where science had conclusively led. And he was quite brilliant, you know. But—and I assume you have watched the video since it continues to replay the ghastly carnage of that night— Luther impractically moved ahead of safeguards and injected himself with the cloning serum which he himself had ionized from ...” Hamilton lifted his hand with reverence. “From one who was like a god.”
Hunter didn’t look at the creature. “This man must have had a good reason to take a chance like that,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
With the most minute shrug Hamilton said without emotion, “Well, in truth, who will ever know for certain? Luther’s genius was, indeed, unparalleled. And perhaps he concluded, erroneously, that he had perfected the serum.” He paused. “Earlier tests on his serum, which were conducted on baboons, were spectacularly positive and so Luther bypassed human testing and volunteered himself. Perhaps Luther was simply too impetuous to seize the power, the pure physical might and the immortality that man has sought since time began.”
Hunter was dead-steady. “It’s a fantasy, Hamilton. Nobody lives forever.”
“Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Hunter, I believe that our species is capable of exceeding long life spans. We have simply not isolated the means of rejuvenating cellular structure as the body ages. An enigma since, scientifically, there is very little definition except the loss of cellular modules to explain why we age at all past maturity; an unexplainable phenomenon. And for many years now it has been my goal to uncover that mystery. You see, I am almost sixty years of age. Not old by any means. But I am haunted, more and more, by the specter of my mortality. It is an old story: a young man thinks not of death, the old think of nothing else. And you would represent yourself well if you did not consider me a monster, Mr. Hunter; a man who betrayed his oath and his profession to cheat death. Or, if not to cheat, then to delay interminably.”
Hamilton hesitated, and some of his arrogance seemed to subside, as if the contemplation had made him more honest. Hunter allowed him to ponder in silence while he slightly bent his head, observing the exact location of the guards.
Still ranged in a tight semicircle, they held M-16’s at port arms. Each of them wore black battle-dress uniforms with black balaclavas that hid everything but their eyes. For a surreal moment, Hunter wondered if it was their duty to keep intruders out or the research personnel inside.
Hamilton beheld him with eyes that seemed strangely more pale. “In truth, those of us who have crossed this ethical and scientific void to realize what has escaped man since Eden should be lauded for our courage, our vision, and our sacrifice. For not in a thousand years, since man accepted that he is not the center of the universe, has the world faced so great a revelation as we have unveiled. Yes, I know what you are thinking, Mr. Hunter. Quite probably, there is nothing you can say that has not already crossed my mind. You are thinking that the loss of that young woman, as well as the deaths at these installations, were too great a price for success.”
Hunter was stone-faced. He revealed nothing in his expression as he unblinkingly held the older man’s gaze.
“But I tell you that all of these people, to the last one, would have died within the next one hundred years.” Hamilton held himself as if the incontrovertible statement would settle the dispute. “And the scientist that was dispatched at your institution because of security reasons ...well, the loss of life is always tragic. But that situation was, in truth, beyond my control. Really, how long do you believe it would have been before that woman would have succumbed to the ravages of old age or some vampirish illness that leeched the strength from her soul? How long before she would have prayed for death to cease the multitude agonies? Ten years? Twenty? Fifty?” He shook his head. “You know the answer as well as I. But what if that same woman could have been given the elixir of eternal health and life? Would she have refused? No, Mr. Hunter, I sincerely doubt that. No, she would have gratefully accepted the gift of the gods; immortality, for all practical purposes, and eternal health. Of course, no one, not even with the elixir, truly lives forever. But a life span of a thousand years is incomparably better than a life span of a hundred.”
Hunter gazed up somberly at the muted giant, monstrous head bowed so that the square chin rested between huge pectoral muscles thick as armor. “And him?” he asked. “You call that human?”
“No,” Hamilton answered frankly. “It was a beast. Half man, at best. And, in truth, we never categorized him. Once his fantastic qualities of rejuvenation and enhanced longevity were discovered, a classification became needless. It was enough that within his bones lay the remnants of heme units that provided the magical coding, which we attempted to duplicate. It was only Luther, the fool, who moved too quickly, precipitating this incident.”
“Incident?” Hunter asked coldly. “Several hundred men and women are dead, Hamilton. I wouldn’t call that an ‘incident.’ I would call it a disaster.”
“And that is where your mind fails to seize the opportunity for turning a disadvantage into an advantage.” Hamilton’s tone was dead-steady, certain, and convinced. “You see, in any experiment there is always the danger of compromised security. It wasn’t until the creature had struck for the second time that I was inspired to turn this ... disaster ... into a positive force.”
Hunter was appalled. Feeling a rush of warm blood to his face, he spoke: “You let them die.” It wasn’t a question, and he repeated it. “You’re worse than your monster. When you got what you wanted, you let those people die so you could contain your secret.”
Hamilton’s expression was bland.
“As you said, Mr. Hunter, no one lives forever.”
***
“This is ungood,” Taylor muttered.
Bending his head inside the listening post they had established in the motor pool, Takakura spoke in a low tone. “Use your night visor. You should be able to see easily in the shadows.”
“The night visor don’t see through solid steel, Commander. I’ve already checked the treeline and the rocks, and it ain’t there, far as I can tell. But I know it’s somewhere. I can smell it.”
Takakura held the M-14-A1 close, a pistol on his chest and thigh. Anti-personnel grenades and extra clips for the M-14 were staggered on the left side of his gun belt. Taylor, as always, was armed with a variety of shotguns. The street-sweeper was loaded with twelve depleted-uranium shells. It fired as fast as the trigger could be pulled. It would be his primary weapon.
The headphone Takakura wore suddenly squawked with a static burst before the Jap
anese frowned. Watching, Taylor listened to the muted replies: “No ...no, we have not observed him ... Hai ... I will inform you.” He returned to observation.
“What was all that about?” Taylor asked.
“It was the marshal, the one called Chaney.” Takakura frowned. “It seems they are looking for Hunter. They do not know where he is.”
Studious, Taylor squinted. “You know, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him around. That ain’t like him. Usually he’s on the front line. Where’s the wolf?”
“Guarding the professor. I stopped in ICU and checked on them before we took listening-post duty.” Takakura’s pause was long. “You are correct. It is not like Hunter to vanish.”
Taylor didn’t like it either. “Maybe we oughta’ go find him,” he muttered, but even as he said it, he realized it was impossible. Every listening post was vital; it was the first line of warning, and their best defense. Plus, the CP didn’t have either the time or manpower to reassign the duty. An alarming thought settled over Taylor as he pondered possibilities.
“You don’t think Hunter went into the woods, do you?” He hesitated. “I mean, like he did before?”
“No,” Takakura answered with confidence. “What he did before, effective as it may have been, was from desperation. Hunter is a brave man, but he is also wise. He does not risk his life unless it is necessary, or unless he consciously forfeits it for what he has decided is a greater good. No, he would not have gone out alone. For with this electrified fence and this much armament, we might have a chance of resisting the beast until dawn. Then, hopefully, we will airlift from this facility and leave it to the creature.”
“We should have done that today,” Taylor grunted. “But so what. They ain’t gonna do it tomorrow either, Commander. ‘Cause they’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. They have something to do with that thing out there, I guarantee it. And they can’t let it roam around killing innocent folk. Word might get out, and then they’d be toast. No, they gotta kill it or capture it before the press and public get wind, one way or another. And that’s what all this is for. Man, the brass is briefed on the fact that we don’t stand a snowball’s chance. But that ain’t their problem. ‘Cause we’re just grunts; we’re the ones who are supposed to be doing this stuff while they sit on their butts making their oh-so-smart political decisions. And plus that, we know too much. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I know it’s heavy. And if I know those buttheads in Washington, they ain’t gonna want too many witnesses walking around when this is over. Heads have a habit of talking.” Anger shook him. “No, they’re gonna leave us hanging here until that thing’s dead or we’re dead. I know that score.”
Thrilled to Death Page 42
