Chaney thought about asking to examine the vehicle, then thought better of it. Don't go bustin' no red lights, Brick had warned. Don't go around asking a lot of questions like some hotshot investigator. Don't start attracting attention to yourself
But there was one thing that he could do before he hooked up with Brick later in the evening. He could visit Langley and discover who was in control of these facilities. There was little risk involved because by now—they weren't complete fools—they would have confirmed that this was an official investigation. And not showing up at all would be more suspicious than looking like a guy going through the motions.
It took a single easy—too easy, it seemed—phone call and Chaney was soon admitted into a secure section of Langley. As he walked toward the receptionist in what they call a "white" terminal—a section devoted to research and development as opposed to information gathering—he saw a tall, white-haired man with a clipboard and white lab coat speaking casually with another man. As Chaney stepped to the desk, the man turned.
"Marshal Chaney?" the older man asked pleasantly.
Introductions were simple and Dr. Arthur Hamilton ushered Chaney into his office. Before he even sat down in front of the desk, Chaney knew he was dealing with a heavyweight.
Where the Tipler Institute seemed to have a reserved and somewhat humble tone of intellectuality, there was nothing understated about Dr. Hamilton's office. Obviously concerned about the secretiveness of his own identity, Hamilton had a legion of impressive diplomas on display as well as a polished row of gold-plated awards, none of which Chaney recognized. Graphs and display charts recording geological information were spread on the desk.
"So, Marshal," Hamilton proceeded, "I suppose you are investigating the rather horrendous series of accidents that have plagued our facilities."
Chaney had not expected any stonewalling, at least not recognizable, and played the game. He was glad to see that his instincts had not disappointed him.
"I'm trying to determine the cause of these tragic events at the research facilities, Doctor." Chaney presented the air of a professional—a man who committed himself to an investigation without becoming personally involved. "So I have to ask you a few questions, if you have the time."
"Oh, certainly." Hamilton gestured with concern. "Believe me, Marshal Chaney, we are as anxious as anyone to discover what is attacking our personnel. These are rather expensive facilities and highly trained assistants. Neither are easily replaced. In fact, we have been forced to terminate the research temporarily. But, of course, the greatest tragedy of all is in the truly lamentable loss of life." He paused, shook his head. "Yes, quite tragic."
Chaney cleared his throat. "Just what, Doctor, is the purpose of these facilities? The military has been closing Arctic research stations for years because of the budget. Why is the Central Intelligence Agency funding such an expensive program?"
"Oh, for simple science." Hamilton responded with a wave. "You see, Marshal—and I have, of course, confirmed that you are cleared for this information—those facilities monitor seismic activity in the Arctic Circle. And because of their proximity to the Bering Strait and Siberia, we also can monitor any potential nuclear testing which still might occur." He hesitated. "The cold war is over but vigilance is the price we pay for peace. It is not a mean responsibility, and we take it very seriously."
"I'm certain that you do, Doctor." Chaney glanced at the charts. "So, these research facilities have a printed Mission Purpose?" He knew that a printed purpose of intent was mandatory for all Central Intelligence facilities, just as they were for the Marshals Service.
Chaney also realized that there were few organizations in the world, that demanded as much paperwork and documentation of covert activity as the CIA. It was a remarkable paradox in the agency's pathological quest for secrecy.
Hamilton already had the manual available and handed it graciously to Chaney. Then he sat with utter composure in the larger chair. "You may read it now, if you like," he continued. "Of course you can't make notes or take a copy with you. Even I cannot remove an operations manual from the facility. But you can take all the time you need."
Chaney perused it, noticing that a substantial amount of personnel and equipment were dedicated to advanced sonic measurement of tectonic plates. He also saw that each research station had the same SOP, or Special Operational Procedures.
"Why do these facilities all have the same SOP?" he asked, attempting to appear casually confused. "Seems like one could do the job of all six."
"No, no," Hamilton stressed. "It would appear that way, yes, but that is not the case." He retrieved a series of charts from a nearby table. "You see, each station is situated over the edge of a particular tectonic plate. Each plate, over a hundred miles in width, floats over what is known as the athenosphere, or the partially molten substance that moves the plates from time to time."
Chaney was amazed at how fluidly and persuasively the scientist expounded. He was clearly believable, which told Chaney something more: if the scientist was lying, he was a very dangerous man. He waited until Hamilton completed his lesson in geophysics.
"I see," Chaney nodded. "Then why do you think there have been so many casualties over the past two weeks? Surely this kind of information isn't worth an incident. In fact, our adversaries are probably doing the same to us. Monitoring our activities, I mean."
"Oh, I can assure you that they are," Hamilton said, and Chaney noticed that the scientist was remarkably fit for his age. Although he must have been in his sixties, his face was smooth, almost unwrinkled, and had remarkable color and tone. In fact, Chaney didn't know if he'd ever seen someone of Hamilton's age in such remarkably good physical condition. Even seated, the man had obvious strength and athleticism. He listened patiently as Hamilton described the "nefarious" attempts of our enemies to use satellite surveillance on the facilities.
"Yes, I'm sure these attempts are ... nefarious," Chaney responded. "But that doesn't explain why people are dying, Doctor. I've got a body count of a hundred. Now, surely you have some idea why we have this level of ... of carnage."
Hamilton shook his head. "No, Marshal, I am afraid that I do not. I only know that I have done what I know to do. I have approved a special team, some of which you are already aware of, to investigate this matter." He rose, strolling chin in hand. "I am a scientist, Marshal. Not an investigator, such as yourself. So I can assure you, you are speaking with the wrong person. Oh, I understand nature, as well as nature allows itself to be understood. But that type of knowledge is no assistance in a mystery such as this. In fact, it would be a hindrance more than anything else."
"Why is that, Doctor?"
Hamilton raised his eyes. "Because, Marshal, what I deal with, more than anything else, are mysteries. But mysteries that we will likely never solve." He shook his head, bemused. "Even with something as elementary as geophysics, I consider myself an ignorant man, Marshal, despite all my degrees. Long ago, I gave up being frustrated by the profound mysteries of the universe or even trying to explain them. And if I know so little of my own field, imagine how useless to you I would be in yours."
Chaney wondered for a split second if the good doctor hadn't subconsciously given something away. In a heartbeat he intuited that he might gain more by asking about things not directly related to the investigation.
"Doctor," he began casually, attempting to disarm with charm, "you're obviously a learned man. You could probably explain anything you put your mind to as well as anyone alive."
"Oh, not at all." Hamilton turned solidly, and Chaney was again impressed with the man's muscularity. "I am confident that I can explain many things, Marshal Chaney. But the more one answers, the more mysteries one perceives. I could speak for semesters on quantum theory, for instance. Or the force that holds opposing elements together. Or, perhaps, speculate on the origin of thought, or the soul, or life." He stopped in place, smiling. "But that isn't why you came to see me, is it?"
Chane
y realized: Mistake.
"No," he said. "I want to know what you think is killing your people. Or why."
"And in that, unfortunately, I cannot help you."
"Well, Doctor," Chaney sat straighter, "something is for sure killing them. So you might as well give me some ideas."
Hamilton leaned forward. "I can tell you what I have been told," he began. "This...murderer, whatever it is, has literally decimated three of my research facilities. One other remains. But if that installation is destroyed, then the entire program will be terminated. Apparently, this...this thing ... is strong. Extremely fast. Highly intelligent. And I, for one, believe that it may well be an unknown species. Something we have not been aware of. That is why we've gone to extreme measures in hunting it down."
Chaney stared. "Thing?"
"Why, yes." Hamilton's brow hardened. He seemed shocked. Or suspicious. "I ... ah ... don't you know details of these atrocities, Marshal? The accounts of this things inhuman cunning? It’s almost unbelievable display of fantastic brute strength?"
"Well, I know that whatever killed your people fought its way through many soldiers at each site, Doctor. But it didn't completely defeat the video surveillance, some of which was recorded at covert sites in Washington. And I believe Washington, specifically the Senate Intelligence Subcommittee, is where this plan to find the creature originated."
"Yes." Hamilton nodded. "We were attempting to deal with the situation internally, of course. But when we were called for conference, we agreed that a highly skilled team was probably the best means of resolving the situation. Obviously, our own efforts had been demonstrably insufficient. In fact, I am on record as saying I had no objections at all to the idea, as long as the National Security Agency could retain full authority and command."
"But the hunting team wasn't your idea?"
"Not originally, no. However, I had no objections."
"Nor was it the idea of anyone inside the Agency?"
"Well, I have no knowledge of that."
"I see." Chaney paused. "And that's when the army and marines got involved? Is that correct? That's when someone from the Pentagon, this Agent Dixon, was assigned to assemble this team?"
"Well"—Hamilton cleared his throat—"there was always a military contingent present at the sites, but only for security. But, yes, they became involved in the more intimate aspects of the situation when this special unit was formed to, ah, destroy this creature."
Chaney carefully analyzed what he had heard. "Tell me, Doctor. I mean, you're a scientist. You know a great deal about biology. What would you make of this creature?"
"Well, Marshal, I would ask you the same thing. After all, you are the one investigating the situation. What do you yourself think of such a creature?"
"What do I think?" Chaney opened his eyes a bit wider with the frankness he felt no desire to conceal. "I would think that he or she, or it, could be classified as a monster, Doctor."
"Yes." Hamilton smiled, suddenly more distant. His ice-blue eyes chilled. "Of course."
The silence was unusual, and Chaney decided to take a different tack. He had already, despite Brick's gold-plated advice, gone over the line.
Now Hamilton knew that he was actually interested and, even worse, serious. He'd decide later how much to tell Brick about his misstep. It probably wouldn't be much.
"Tell me about this team you've organized," he said. "Surely they asked you for input when they designed it."
"Well, my primary suggestion, which I demurely presented, was to include someone of substantial scientific acumen present as an adviser. That, to me, seemed indispensable. The man selected was Dr. Angus Tipler, a scholar of unchallenged genius. I did not participate in the selection of the soldiers; I have little knowledge of them. But I understand they are quite adept at this type of search and ... how do they say it in the military?"
"Search and destroy."
"Yes," Hamilton replied, "a search-and-destroy mission. And we have, oh, some other gentleman who knows something about hunting, or tracking. Something like that. I myself am not so familiar with this last individual. I did not consider him important—not important at all, really. So I only perused his file briefly."
Chaney found that more than interesting: Hamilton didn't consider the addition of Hunter, a millionaire and highly recognized wilderness expert, an important event.
"This man," Chaney said, "is Nathaniel Hunter?"
"Yes, yes, he, uh, I believe he is something of an expert tracker. Somewhat well off financially. Not rich, by any means. But comfortable, and used frequently for finding people lost in wilderness areas. I am not sure that he does much of anything at all except support certain wildlife organizations. So I do not know why he was considered so important. But I have a file here, somewhere, if you would like to peruse it."
"Yes," Chaney said. "I would. But, first, I want an answer to a question that you've avoided twice already."
"Oh, I am sorry." Hamilton seemed sincere. "It was certainly an oversight. And to allay your suspicions, should you possess any, please be assured that I am not attempting to be evasive. Quite simply, I have nothing to be evasive about."
"I understand." Chaney smiled blandly. "Do you think that whatever is killing your people could be somehow controlled by competing foreign interests? Particularly former Soviet or Communist enterprises that do basically the same thing as these facilities? Would the information contained at those centers benefit them?"
Hamilton almost smiled, but it never emerged. "No, Marshal. There is nothing contained within the centers that would merit any kind of foreign attack at all. We monitor tectonic phenomena that have nothing, really, to do with military matters."
"Who is in ultimate command of the hunting party?"
"As I said, the National Security Agency."
"I mean, who's in charge in the field?" Chaney continued.
"Well, that would be Colonel Maddox from the Pentagon. I have spoken to him on many occasions. He frequently calls me for...well, advice, I would say."
"Do you know an Agent Dixon?"
Not even a pause, as Chaney had expected. "Oh, certainly." Hamilton glanced to the side, back again. "Agent Dixon, I believe, is attached to the NSA. He is apparently supervising the operation, according to the mandates of the full command and authority parameters."
"Where can I find him?" Chaney asked.
"Well. . ." Hamilton paused a long time. "I believe he must be in Langley. But I am not certain. As I said, I have only spoken with him on two occasions. He is not, other than the fact that he is supervising the situation for the NSA, awfully important to the execution of this team's activities."
Something about this didn't feel right. Chaney stared for a brief moment, trying to decide how to go into it. "Doctor," he said finally, "surely you know that whoever is ultimately responsible for the team's actions should be closely involved in their day-to-day activities."
Hamilton was either truly ignorant of military operations or feigning with skill. "I ...well, I suppose so, Marshal. I never served in the military. I suppose that is something you should speak with Agent Dixon about."
"I will," Chaney affirmed, and decided to end this charade. He took a while, wanting to leave on the right note. "All right. That's enough. Now I'd like to look at this file, if you don't mind."
Hamilton rose also, lifting some folders. "Well, Marshal, I'm afraid I don't have a file on Agent Dixon."
"I'm talking about Hunter, Doctor."
"Oh, yes." Hamilton waved dismissively. "But as I said, I do not believe that he is important."
Without words Chaney took the file and opened it, seeing a black-and-white eight-by-ten of a man who had obviously known hardship. Eyes as pure with purpose and opaque with instinct as a panther's stared out of the photo. His hair was black, shoulder-length, and ragged. The mouth was neither frowning nor smiling, but, rather, set in a stoic line of indifference. It was a countenance that Chaney could easily imagine as threatening, but
threatening didn't seem to fit the broad forehead. No, it was a countenance that seemed to hint more at a quiet command of deep confidence combined with a certainty of extreme ability—as if he knew that he possessed a concentrated purity of will that had been forged with extraordinary and tested skills.
Chaney had a feeling one more thing would unveil whatever was hidden within all this: he had to find out why this man was so damned unimportant.
Hunter led them unerringly to the mine, arriving while there was still enough daylight remaining to prepare for the night.
Chiseled by pickax into the side of a hard bluff, the mine was perfect for the night. Its opening was barely the size of four men standing abreast, and previous owners had closed it with ax-tapered logs that were weathered but still solid and strong despite twenty years weathering. Even better, the logs were buttressed into the side of the hill by steel beams.
For a forced entry, unless the logs were levered over the top of the beam, the creature would have to smash them asunder with brute force. Not an easy stunt, even for this thing. Ripping a steel door off its hinges was one thing; only two hinges of steel had to be shredded and a lock cracked. Smashing a two-and-a-half-foot-diameter log in half was another thing altogether.
Kneeling together, as if in prayer, they discussed the situation beside the professor who, remarkably, seemed to be regaining a little strength. Takakura seemed unconvinced. "It will rip the logs from the foundation," he said plainly.
"I don't think so," Hunter answered. "Those logs won't shatter easily. And if one does, we'll be doing whatever we have to do. This won't be easy for it. And I don't think it will go head to head with us when it sees that it's gonna take at least twenty minutes to break down that wall. It knows we can hurt it."
Taylor looked at the mine and smiled, shook his head. "That's a deathtrap, Hunter," he said. "Anything goes in there tonight, it'll be in there a long time."
Hunter Page 20
