“We are going into an unknown situation,” he continued. “All we have is hearsay so far. What we do know is that more than five men were killed by something that, according to the eyewitnesses, could not be seen. Whatever it was it lifted a man who weighed in at over two hundred and seventy-five pounds clean off the ground and gutted him while he was still alive. Whatever it was is supposed to have bled green blood, and left several people alive.” He paused. “All of the witnesses were either female or handicapped.”
Pulver nodded, understanding immediately.
“Killed all the fighters.”
“Exactly. Whatever it was, it only seemed to be interested in skilled combatants. That fits the pattern, and it means that we are officially fucked, gentlemen. We get it, or it gets us.” As he said those words, Tomlin smiled. The profile matched what little they knew of the aliens that had hunted people down in Los Angeles, and also along with what little could be gleaned from a dozen other personal accounts.
None of the men looked scared. That was good. He needed hunters on his side, not prey.
“Equipment check. Get it done.” The group very quickly went through the collection of high-tech toys they’d been given to handle this task. Tomlin slipped on his night-vision goggles and checked the spectrum of filters. Low light worked, infrared worked, ultraviolet worked. All was well. The radio worked. The rest were in good order. There were, in short, no technical difficulties to get in the way.
“Where are we going to find this thing?” Orologas had finished inspecting his equipment and was putting everything back where it belonged.
“Deer Water Creek, Florida.” It was Hill who answered. “A substantial distance from any major urban center.”
“Good.” Orologas nodded his head and smiled. None of them wanted complications, which was code for none of them wanted witnesses. The fewer people the better for everyone involved.
Pulver shrugged. “Weather’s gonna be for shit.”
“That may be why we’ve got this chance at all,” Tomlin said. “Worry about what we can control. The rest of it is just the luck of the draw.” Pulver offered a very small smile and nodded his head. He knew the drill well enough and was just making conversation.
“Soon enough, gentlemen. We’re almost there. When we arrive we monitor the emergency channels and we try to find out what else has gone on.”
Hill nodded and added, “These things—we all know this—these things have a pattern. They hunt for a while and they leave. If we’re lucky it’s just getting started, and we’ll have a few chances to find out where it is while it’s still on the prowl.”
Hyde spoke up, which was a bit surprising. “Are we gonna have access to the police reports?”
Orologas nodded. “I’ll have copies of everything they’ve put on computer as soon as we’re settled.”
Tomlin closed his eyes as the winds knocked their transport around a little. His body wanted to be active, wanted to be on the move and searching for their hunter from another world. It might be hours, it might be days, but in the meantime all he could do was answer their questions and try to be patient.
* * *
Politics. It was one of the ugliest words ever created, as far as Woodhurst was concerned. The thing about being a soldier was that you wanted the world to be as black and white as possible. When it came to the world of politics, there was no black or white, there was only a spectrum of gray.
There was no battlefront here either. It was just a collection of meetings that had to be played out like a game of chess. Move forward, move to the side, go for the occasional diagonal strike and hope that somehow you got more done than your opponents in the same number of moves.
Except it was more like playing chess with multiple boards and opponents, all coming at you simultaneously. Since he’d arrived in Washington he’d had four meetings with different people, all of whom, on the periphery, could be of assistance.
At that moment a pompous jackass was trying to explain how to make his proposal “sexier,” as if the notion of spending millions of dollars to capture an alien stalker and steal its technology should somehow be associated with a pinup in an old Playboy magazine. Said jackass, a congressional aide named Norman Mueller, spoke past a mouthful of lamb chop.
“Thing is, unless you can spin this into something that can garner votes, the congresswoman might not be interested in doing anything with it.”
“Well, then,” the general said, and he smiled, “you might be able to see my problem here. This is strictly need-to-know information, and can’t be advertised to the public.” It was like trying to explain a circle to someone who had only ever worked with straight lines. “We can’t let this get out, because there would be panic.”
“What makes you say that?”
“There’s no irrefutable proof of life on other planets. If that proof existed, there’s every reason to believe that most of the religious groups in this country would go ballistic.”
“Why?”
He smiled and considered what it would be like to shove his knife through the damned fool’s eye.
“Let’s look at the Bible as a good example,” Woodhurst said. “Do you see any mention of aliens anywhere in that good book?”
“I’m actually Jewish.”
“Fair enough. Are there any mentions of aliens coming down from the stars in the Torah?”
A frown appeared on that bland face. Then, finally, the man shook his head.
“No, not that I can recall.”
“So, if I go out there and tell the world that there are aliens, and that they’ve visited the planet before, and gone hunting people, what do you suppose the response would be from the more devout members of your faith?”
Mueller frowned and thought for a long moment. “Outrage.”
Then he added, “Fear.”
“Exactly. It’s not my place to tell anyone about what’s going on here. I’m just a man doing a job. That sort of decision is above my pay scale, and I’m sure the congresswoman would agree with me on that.” He shrugged. “My job is simply to get financing so that if and when these things come back, we can try to capture one and see what we can learn from it, including how to stop them from hunting citizens of these United States.”
That left the man pondering his position. In the interim, Woodhurst cut a piece of filet from his main course and chewed carefully.
“So there can be no publicity?”
Woodhurst nodded.
“Then I don’t know that the congresswoman can help you.”
“She’s on the committee overlooking my department. She’s already working on the situation.”
“Well, yes, but can you think of any good reasons for her to support your side of this, over the need to save money?”
“National security.”
“We have a council for that, don’t we?”
The knife to the eye was sounding better by the second.
* * *
Traeger smiled. The meetings continued, but with a twist. There was now a very real hope that the Reapers were onto something.
“Listen, I can’t say anything about the situation, except that there’s a real chance of, well… instant gratification.”
Wayne Raferty stirred the snifter of brandy in his hand and looked at Traeger, feigning boredom. He wasn’t bored, Traeger knew, not in the least, but he did his best to fake it because he knew they had something good for him.
“What can you tell me?” Raferty said.
“I can tell you that I have interested parties who would provide a lot of the necessary monies for keeping the project afloat, in exchange for a share of the profits down the line.”
“Intriguing,” the senator responded, “especially since the last I heard this was strictly a need-to-know situation.” The man’s bushy gray eyebrows moved when he spoke in a way that bordered on distracting.
Traeger nodded. “It is need-to-know. I haven’t been able to say much to anyone, but it’s easy to imagine the opportunities h
ere, for technological advances down the line and the patents they could lead to. The sort of things that make a lot of companies happy to take a risk, even in a situation where they aren’t allowed to hear all the details. You get what I’m saying?”
“I do,” Raferty said. “Can you tell me which companies are interested?”
“Funny you should ask, Senator. I found a surprising number of companies that would be interested, and that also happen to be part of your stock portfolio.” He smiled.
“And how would you know what’s in my portfolio, William?” There was a slight edge to the man’s voice. It was fully justified.
“You know who I work for. What makes you think I couldn’t find out just by asking the right coworker?” Traeger smiled to take the sting out of his words. No one liked knowing their information was more public than they expected, and that definitely included the occasional senator. “Doesn’t matter, really. I could have found out by looking into your public records. I might have called in a few favors though. Either way, you have stock in companies that are on my list.”
“And do you think that knowledge is going to sway my decision?”
“That’s for you to decide, but yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Traeger didn’t hesitate in his response. “Look, it comes down to this—no one wants to foot the bill for a project this risky, but it needs to happen, and if a small committee can’t make the decision to cover the expenses, we have no choice but to look elsewhere.”
The eyebrows met above the man’s dark eyes. His expression bordered on contrary, and that wasn’t what Traeger wanted at all.
“Where do I come into this?”
Traeger smiled as innocuously as he could manage. “I can’t make this happen without support. I can’t arrange private funding of a project like this without official backing from a few of the people in the committee. I mean, I probably could—I might manage to hide the paperwork well enough—but if anyone were to ask, I’d be working twice as hard just to hide the information.”
Raferty took a very small sip of his brandy and considered the words in silence.
Traeger sighed. The man was playing hard to get.
“It’s easy to see why various companies would be interested in this sort of research and development,” he said. “Very little risk up front, relatively speaking, and possible rewards that could last for decades. It’s a win-win. I get my funding, you get a nice bump in your 401K when things go the way we both know they will.”
“You believe things are going to happen?”
Traeger leaned forward, his eyes locked with the senator’s. “I believe that right now there’s a group of eager soldiers who are doing their best to make this concept a reality. Right now. This. Very. Minute.” He tapped the table in front of him. “If we work this the right way, everyone is going to be happy—very happy—before the week is through.”
The senator said nothing, but he was thinking. That was all Traeger could hope for.
“It costs nothing, Senator,” he persisted. “The private sector—select members of the private sector—are willing to take up a lot of the risks. We could stay exactly where we are with government contributions. Hell, maybe if we have to we could even shave away a bit.”
The man nodded his head and set down his brandy.
“Best of all,” Traeger concluded, “nothing really changes, and no one is the wiser.” Done with his part of the sales pitch, he picked up his own snifter and swished the brandy around in his hand, warming the fluid before taking a very small sip.
Victory came in small doses, much like brandy. And just as with the liquor, it was meant to be savored.
9
The rains came down harder still, assaulting the ground with hard droplets that splashed back up in retaliation. The air was thick with the downpour, which nearly eliminated any chance to see beyond a few feet.
The slashing wind took that torrential rain and turned it sideways. Cars rocked where they rested or, if they were moving, hydroplaned dangerously. Most of the drivers had the good sense either to pull to the side of the road or slow down to a crawl. There were always exceptions, of course, and a few of them managed to wind up in ditches or in collisions with other vehicles.
The Reapers did what they could in their situation, which was find a motel, sit on their collective asses, and wait. Orologas had found new information on the destruction at the Four Horsemen clubhouse. He’d also spotted at least two other situations that might lead back to a creature hunting human beings. The “why” still remained a mystery.
Three bodies had been skinned in Boca Raton, but the work—while grisly—did not follow the MO they were looking for. The three had been a man, his wife, and their child. Horrifying, yes, but with the inclusion of a woman and an infant, it very likely wasn’t the work of their quarry.
More promising, two men had been found in the Okefenokee, not far from the town where the Reapers were currently sitting on their laurels. While both bodies were in advanced stages of decomposition, and one of them showed evidence of being chewed on by an alligator, it didn’t appear as if their deaths had been an accident. There was also a very real chance that whatever had done the killing had also taken trophies.
“You think this thing is going out in weather like this?”
“Hard to say,” Orologas replied. “For all we know it loves it—this might be the alien version of a weekend in Cabo. We don’t have enough information. Sure as hell wasn’t raining like this in LA though.”
They were in one of three rooms that they’d rented at the motel. The rooms were easily secured, and the clerk took cash. The only person he’d seen was Tomlin, who’d switched to civilian clothes before he made the arrangements. They’d paid for a week, and placed Do Not Disturb signs on the doors.
With luck they wouldn’t use the rooms for more than a night, but seeing as they intended to stalk and capture an alien hunter, risking life and limb in the effort, it seemed a better notion than putting up tents in the middle of the swamp.
Orologas flipped his screen around to show everyone the crime scene photos of the massacre at the bike club.
“So here’s what we’ve got at the first scene,” he said. “You can see there’s around twelve bodies here, and most of them are mutilated in the extreme.” They all leaned in closer to get a good look. It wasn’t the sort of scene that added confidence to anyone’s ego. Whatever had done the damage had torn bodies apart.
“Hunters are sick bastards,” Hill said. “Especially the ones who do it for sport.”
Tomlin nodded. “We don’t know what the hell they’re after, but if it’s for fun and games, I’m going to enjoy taking this thing out.”
King said nothing, but he stared at the images with nearly fanatical intensity. Then he pointed to an interior shot of the house, in what looked to be the main party room.
“There. Over there. Can you zoom in?” His finger touched the screen, Orologas leaned over to see what he was looking at, and then made adjustments. The image he wanted was the luminescent green puddle that spilled across part of the floor and onto the face of a dead man.
“What is that?”
“Might be the blood of that thing from what we’ve heard,” King responded. “Pappy said they bleed green.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Well, whatever color it bleeds, that’s the color I want to see, and not ours,” Tomlin said. “We don’t know enough about this thing. It’s big, and fast, and stealthy, and that’s not nearly enough to go on.”
Hill spoke up. “We know it kills. We know it took out a bunch of bikers.”
“Well, if the thing’s after the best we have to offer, he kind of missed the mark.” Pulver’s voice fairly dripped contempt.
Hill shook his head. “Don’t get cocky. Back at Fort Benning I ran across a biker gang. Four dudes, none of them looked all that impressive, but they were ready for a fight and they held their own pretty damned good.”
“Yeah? How many soldiers?” Orologas aske
d.
Hill looked at him and smiled, but he didn’t answer.
“In any event, we need to get as ready as we can,” Tomlin said. “Orologas, monitor the police channels. I want to hear about any possible disturbances, even with this storm going on.”
The communications specialist nodded.
“Everyone else should try to get some rest while we still can.” No one argued. Outside the rains kept hammering at the ground.
Now and then thunder let out a distant growl.
* * *
The war mask was not working as well as he wanted in the turbulent rain, so he took it off. His eyes would suffice in the current situation. The waters washed around his ankles, and with each surge of the wind the moisture crawled all the way up to his calves. The rains would not be stopping any time soon.
The dominant inhabitants of the planet seemed very nearly afraid of the weather, preferring to stay inside their domiciles rather than risk the moisture. To that end he decided to hunt other game.
The vast reptilian life forms within the wetlands were not overly aggressive, but they were large and deadly. Within a few hours of reaching the area he had spotted the creatures and marked them as possible prey. Now that there was a chance to hunt them, he took advantage of it.
In the near darkness and the violent rains the things came closer to the surface, likely to look for fresh game. Even standing still at the edge of the water he could see them as they moved, sliding effortlessly through the currents, their eyes barely breaking the surface where they lurked. They had teeth and claws. Full-grown specimens had substantial body mass and prehensile tails that might even break his bones, if employed against him. The jaws of the creatures looked strong enough to bite through his leg, or even his torso.
Excellent.
Unlike the creatures with their firearms and their vehicles, these primitive beasts seemed like a proper threat. He wasn’t foolish enough to doubt the dangerous nature of the dominants, however. He’d encountered them before, had hunted them, done battle with them and captured his prizes.
These were hunters, though—true hunters, carnivores that sought food. The thought made his blood surge and his pupils dilate. He let out a shuddering breath and waited patiently for one of the massive beasts to get close enough to provide a serious challenge.
The Predator Page 6
