Takakura turned his head. "Riley!"
In a moment Riley was bent beside them, wearily propped on his rifle. Hunter had liked the guy from the first, but had not found a good opportunity to talk to him.
Takakura's tone allowed no room for failure. "We will negotiate this bluff ahead to lower the professor and move for this area known as Windy Gap, which is the only pass through the mountains. Can you rig a harness for which to accomplish this?"
Riley glanced at the map. "That's a one-hundred-foot vertical drop, but yes, I can manage it."
"Good." The Japanese folded the map and rose sharply.
Hunter saw what he meant, knew it was possible. Then he looked up to see Bobbi Jo attentively medicating the old professor through the rough-rigged IV and stood as Takakura continued.
"There is no time to waste. We must move quickly, Hunter," he turned into him. "Are you confident that you and your wolf can detect the presence of the beast, should he approach again?"
Hunter's response was solid. "It hasn't deceived us yet. But it's learning. You can't be sure what it will do next. Confidence can be dangerous."
"How do you know that it is learning?"
"It used to stalk, now it waits in ambush." He paused. "There's other things bothering me about that, too. But we can talk about it later. Right now it's enough to assume that it probably can't move without Ghost hearing it. On balance ... I'd say that, one way or another, either Ghost or I can pick it up. But it's not a guarantee."
Takakura said nothing for a long moment, then turned to Bobbi Jo. "You will take point behind Hunter," he said. "You possess the only weapon which can wound it." He walked away. "Buck and Riley will carry the professor for now. Let's move."
Hunter never ceased to be amazed at Takakura's determination and complexity. On the one hand, the Japanese was patient and courteous and enduring far beyond the rest; on the other he could be as severe as a feudal lord declaring war. But Hunter had come to genuinely respect him; it was enough.
Bobbi Jo seemed to be finally showing the strain of carrying the heavy Barrett and its ammunition. Her face was flushed, perspiration running in rivulets down her neck through a sea of sweat, and her depressed shoulder showed where the strap, though padded, was cutting through her vest. As Hunter walked past her, he asked casually, "Want me to carry that for a while? It's a heavy piece of artillery. And you've carried it all day through some pretty bad terrain."
To his surprise and without blinking she said, "Don't mind at all. It's yours. Here." And gave it to him. Simple as that.
When she let the weapon go, Hunter was shocked. It weighed at least thirty pounds. He couldn't believe she'd carried this weight for so long without ever revealing the effort it took. He put the strap over his shoulder, trying to find a comfortable point of contact, as she worked the action on the Marlin, ejecting a cartridge from the port and then injecting it back into the magazine. Obviously she needed no instruction in how to work his weapon.
She swept back hair from her head, speaking quickly and pointing to the weapon. "There's a round already chambered. This is the safety. It's a semiauto .50 caliber. You already found out that it kicks some, but be ready. You've got five shots but I'll get to you before that.” A pause. “Hopefully."
He looked up. "Why hopefully?"
Shaking sweat from her forehead, she smiled, " 'Cause I've got the extra clips."
"Oh."
"Let's move!" Takakura repeated, looking more warlike with every step the expedition put behind them. Hunter took point, with Ghost ranging to his left and right, searching, searching, and always ready. Hunter tried to estimate how quickly they could negotiate the expanse between them and the research station before they once again might be forced to try and kill what might indeed be un-killable.
***
Chaney answered the fax, reading it from the screen of the portable laptop. As ever, he was impressed with the modern technology available to modern law-enforcement personnel.
Without shame or concern he considered himself a computer idiot, but he knew enough about technology to remain functional. From the old school, though, he still preferred the old-fashioned snitch and a good fast attack stratagem. However he was not so cowboy-minded that he didn't appreciate fingertip access to information.
Chaney studied the Executive Order displayed on the gray-blue monitor. It was dated one week ago and had authorized the search team in the Alaskan wilderness. And one name in particular attracted his attention: Dr. Angus Tipler, executive director of the Tipler Institute.
Chaney had just learned that Tipler was the country's leading authority on crypto-zoology and ecosystems reputedly on the verge of destruction. In fact, that entire institute seemed dedicated to the preservation of endangered species and environments. Thoughtfully, Chaney studied it. What was this old man doing on what was supposed to be a military mission? Then he saw an obscure mention of the inclusion of a civilian "scout." He focused on the name: Nathaniel Hunter.
Hell, he thought, the army had plenty of scouts; it was a highly recruited MOS. Why would this team need a civilian scout? Did the military not have people who could handle this job? Or was Hunter recruited because he was an expert in the topography, the nature of the wilderness? Was there something more to it?
Question led to question.
What would a half-dozen top-secret CIA research stations be looking for up in Alaska, anyway? What could justify such an outrageous expenditure in an era of wholesale budget cuts? And, most important, who had authorized it? Who was responsible for their activities?
He called the operator for the number of the Tipler Institute, and recorded the address. That would be his first stop. Then he would do some background investigation on this "scout" who was leading the team. It seemed to him for a moment that he had heard of this man, Nathaniel Hunter.
Nothing seemed to come to mind, but he had read it, seen it somewhere. He made a mental note to look into him, too.
Whoever Hunter was, he had to be something pretty special. Because the army didn't normally rely upon civilian "scouts" unless they were operating on foreign soil. And Alaska, though wild and hostile and an easy place to get yourself killed, was still ours.
Then he remembered: yes, Nathaniel Hunter, internationally respected multimillionaire and founder of the Tipler Institute. Chaney understood now why the name had not immediately meant something to him when he recalled what little he had read of Hunter. From all reports, the man preferred the deepest anonymity but was a highly demanded speaker at global events concentrated on the environment and certain ecosystems threatened by civilization.
He was also, as Chaney remembered, a rather generous philanthropist who had funded or co-funded a number of award-winning research and ecological projects—some so complex that Chaney couldn't begin to understand them even when he had tried. Chaney also remembered reading something more obscure—news reports of Hunter somehow aiding in certain rescues. But those had been little more than brief accounts he had occasionally come across in the newspapers. At the time, they had meant nothing, but he had mentally indexed the name.
He wondered: what would this man who was famous for his environmental research projects and enormous wealth be doing wandering around Alaska with a military hit team? Now that, almost more than anything, truly didn't fit. In fact, it seriously enhanced the enigma.
Carefully, he checked the Sig Sauer 226 9-mm semiauto that was his service gun to ensure that a round was chambered. And he tried to ignore how uncomfortable it made him feel.
Because he had checked it already.
***
Hunter raised a fist, knelt in place.
All the others stopped where they were.
Something—something instantaneous and ghostly—had happened; something that one of his reflexes or instincts perceived but didn't translate to his mind. He stood motionless, head down, concentrating.
As he understood.
There had been a rhythm to the chorus of bird
song, and then it had broken briefly before resuming with a slightly altered cadence.
First, he scanned for bear or elk or something else that may have intruded on the immediate vicinity. But he knew that it was wishful thinking. Even though the team was causing little noise, their combined scents would have scared away every large predatory animal within two miles.
Eyes moving slowly, left to right, Hunter eyed a leveled section of the bluff that ran alongside a series of broken black crags. His gaze roamed up, down, searching without seeing, waiting. He listened, heard nothing. Around them, higher peaks rose to touch a bright blue sky with an almost crystalline beauty, a stark contrast to the vicious battle in which they were trapped.
Hunter turned his head and looked at Takakura, who scowled in silence. Then he turned his face forward, and thought of moving, but something prevented him: Something was wrong here. Something he couldn't place. He remembered the rule: the forest will only tell you the truth, it will never lie.
Almost in the same second, Takakura came up beside him, holding a steady and level aim at the crags. He waited for a moment, and then, "It has not attacked in the daylight yet. Why do you think it might change its tactics now?"
Hunter hesitated, frowning. Then answered, simply, " 'Cause I ticked it off. I hurt it bad and now it wants revenge. Tell everyone to stay a little spread ...but not much. Five feet is good. If it's in there, I think it'll strike from above."
"Hai."
He was gone and Hunter motioned for Bobbi Jo to come up. "Give me the Marlin. Time to change."
They exchanged guns and Hunter repeated the procedure she had done, working the action and inserting the cartridge back into the magazine. He ensured that it was fully loaded with a live round in the port. Then he glanced back to see that Buck and Riley were carrying the professor. When he had their attention, he cautiously walked toward the crags. Behind him, everyone followed in silence.
He padded forward slowly, feeling the ground with each step, testing the earth as much as the air, the fowl, the wind. He had six heavy rounds in the Marlin, each hot and hard enough to stop a charging rhino in its tracks, but he knew that they weren't enough against this thing. Nothing seemed like it was enough. They had not had time to logically analyze its native ability to endure small-arms fire, Hunter knew they needed to at the first opportunity. First, though, they had to survive this gauntlet.
He only knew that, unless they caught it with a concentrated burst of fire or unless Bobbi Jo hit it point-blank dead-center with the Barrett and then Takakura took its head with the katana, they were going to be in a big, bad world of hurt. Despite the cold, sweat dripped from Hunter's face.
Ghost, vaguely agitated, stared at the tree-line and shuffled his huge paws on rough, black volcanic rock. The big wolf seemed eager to get on with the fight, but would, as always, wait for Hunter's shouted command.
What happened next made Hunter instantly whirl and trigger the Marlin, ready to shoot anything that moved. In the space of a breath, a terrible silence had struck the entire forest.
***
Rebecca loaded the stat sheets into her car. She was in a mood to do something about this DNA information, and if she didn't get some cooperation fast she would be going to heads of departments that few outside the government could approach.
She had decided all of that during a sleepless night; no, she wouldn't engage in senseless dialogue with low-level bureaucratic morons. Not when Tipler's life was in danger.
She had an easy twenty-minute drive and then she would give this Dr. Hamilton a serious wake-up call. He could react or not. If not, or if he hadn't notified Dr. Tipler of the discovery, she would simply leave without a word. She didn't need the cooperation of the CIA. She had only dealt with them out of good faith.
Angling north toward Langley, she took the curve close and continued moving, enjoying the feel of the road. This was one of the few relaxing moments she'd experienced since the ordeal began.
And then it happened.
She knew.
There was a grating, sliding sound beneath her feet and the automobile lurched. She screamed at the sight of a guardrail speeding under and past her, the car somersaulting violently in the air, ceiling smashing hard and then crashing even harder before she saw stark white and lost her grip, everything lost.... She saw a horrifying steep slope almost void of green—dirt and stone that clung to a vertical face. The car slid backwards, turning again as it struck something hard. She stared wildly at the sky as it passed down and up …
Ground rushing beneath her.
***
Ghost sensed it and froze.
Hunter didn't blink.
Slowly he turned his head to measure the wolf's motionless stance and saw the bat-like ears standing high to catch the faintest, farthest whisper of movement, but he could see that Ghost was equally frustrated.
It was close to them, so close that Ghost could catch the almost nonexistent sound of soft grass crushed under a padded foot, and Hunter shifted his grip on the 45.70, turning his head to Bobbi Jo. She was already alert, watching him with wide eyes. Silent, he pointed vaguely at a forty-foot section of stone; he was fairly confident that it was somewhere in that jagged darkness. She nodded.
Instantly Takakura followed his direction and Hunter glanced past the big Japanese to see Taylor raise the shotgun from his side, staring into the surrounding dark stones.
Hunter realized that any dark hole in there would be a good place for ambush—which was a likely possibility since it had never attacked them in the day and would likely want the advantage of surprise. But that sparked another idea within him, an idea that perhaps it was hurt more than they had presumed by small-arms fire. Or maybe there was a limit to that healing ability. Impossible to say, and it bothered Hunter for only the briefest of breaths as he poised.
It was so close, somewhere in that jagged fanged mouth of up-jutting stone, that he could almost smell its breath. But it knew that they knew, and it was moving cautiously. Yet Hunter knew also that they couldn't wait all day for it to attack.
Which didn't leave many choices.
For certain, entering the stones to search for it was not an option. Nor was standing here forever, waiting. So he debated and then decided. Raising the Marlin slightly, he took a cautious step, glancing back narrowly to see that the others were following.
He noticed that Taylor had taken a defensive position close to Riley and Buck, who were still carrying the professor; a necessary risk since they might be able to move completely past this position if the beast hesitated too long. But also dangerous because it would take the commandos at least two seconds to drop the old man and raise weapons.
"Ghost," Hunter whispered, but the wolf didn't look. "Find it for me. Where is it?"
Ghost shifted his dark opaque gaze at—
Catapulting from the dark, a blurring shape tore a savage hole in foliage at the rear of the unit and struck like black lightning, a monstrous clawed hand sweeping out with the speed of a lion to hit Buck squarely, it seemed, in the chest. But Hunter saw more clearly what happened next—Buck's head torn from his shoulders—and knew the blow had been higher; head spinning back, long bright blood vessel trailing, eyes still alive—shocked—dead.
"Goddamn!" Taylor roared and turned as Riley frantically tried to raise his weapon. Then it hit him squarely, a taloned hand tearing away a large section of his ballistic vest to send the commando into stones where he vanished, boots high in the air.
Then it was on top of Taylor, who was already firing the semiauto shotgun at full-tilt. The creature staggered for an instant, then came on again, unstoppable and un-killable and hell-bent to finish them in one consuming attack. But Taylor didn't retreat an inch, roaring defiance as he fired.
It moved so fast in the next second that Hunter wasn't sure if Taylor was dead or alive, and then it was past the fire-scarred soldier, sweeping up the line and leaping to the side to avoid Takakura's dead-accurate machine-gun blaze before rebou
nding off the stone like an ape and barreling into Wilkenson, who was blasted far from the path, his rifle sailing high.
Gunfire lit the trees like lightning and Hunter couldn't see or hear in the blaze and chaos and screaming. He tried for a shot but Bobbi Jo was in the way so he jerk-stepped to the left, away from the stones, to fire from the hip and saw it smash into Takakura.
Firing wildly, Takakura ducked away with a desperate shout as the thing—incredibly both humanoid and beastlike and moving with the speed of a lion—lashed out. Takakura managed a last shot as he barely slid wide of the blow, and then it was on Bobbi Jo and Hunter together, smashing Bobbi Jo's rifle contemptuously to the side as it struck her a glancing swipe in the shoulder that hammered her hard to the ground.
Hunter fired point-blank and it twisted with a howl, coming over him. And in that single, unforgettable split-second Hunter met the deep blood-red eyes that blazed with bestial hate, a fanged mouth roaring with arms extended for a murderous embrace, and he twisted, striking it savagely across the face with the butt of the Marlin.
It didn't even seem to feel the pain, returning a backhand blow that hurled Hunter against a boulder, and then Hunter was fiercely angling and parrying to survive. With tigerish reflexes he had developed from a lifetime of deadly survival in the wild, Hunter narrowly evaded a half-dozen clawed blows that struck in one thunderous blur after another, each tearing sparks from the granite around him. Although the attack didn't last more than two seconds, Hunter had never read an oncoming attack so quickly, had never reacted with such perfect speed, balance, and perfect grace—a twist, an angled shoulder, a desperate duck—causing the monstrous hands to miss again and again by mere fractions of an inch.
Ghost, roaring demonically with rage, descended from a leap, landing fully on the thing's shoulder, white fangs flashing.
Hunter Page 17
