Hunter (32 page)

It was a well-known if unconfessed practice and nobody asked questions about it. But everyone, including supervisors, expected it to be done in order to insure the safety of fellow marshals.

At the briefing before the execution of the warrant, a fellow marshal would inevitably ask Brick, "What did you do last night?" To which Brick would casually respond: "Nothing. Just a little extracurricular activity."

It wasn't a guarantee of safety, but it worked well enough. And now Chaney knew Brick was recommending that he break into Hamilton's home, glean what he could from what he could find, and leave no trace that he had been there. Chaney had already thought of it, but it helped to have someone reinforce what could be considered a wild idea. He took another sip before he spoke. "Yeah, but I don't think this guy takes his work home, Brick."

"He takes his life home, kid." Brick leaned forward on burly forearms. "Don't worry about his computer. It won't be there. Or in the files. Go to his bookcase. Study what he's got. A bunch of literature on earthquakes? Is that his interest?" He nodded hard. "Or is it something else?"

Chaney knew where the old man lived. "All right. I'll take a little look-see tonight."

"Where does he live?"

"A town house, not far from here."

Brick's square head, vaguely resembling a heavyweight boxer's, nodded with each word. "Remember, son, don't mess up the alarm, just disable and pick the lock. Nothing disturbed. Nothing broken. No prints. Don't forget to fix the alarm on your way out. Any fool can break into a place. The trick is breaking in and leaving without anyone ever knowing you were there."

"Yeah, I remember." Chaney hesitated before he brought up his most disturbing thought. "How would you cut a team off from support in the field, Brick? What would be the best way of doing something like that?"

"What do you mean, 'support'?"

"Put them in a position where they couldn't call for backup."

"Well," he responded, concentrating, "I guess the easiest way would be to disable their communications equipment. Wouldn't be all that easy, since everyone is trained to fix the radio, but it could be done if you didn't have a replacement part. In fact, back in 'Nam I heard some war stories about it. They called it a high-tech frag. Guess they figured it was more creative than rolling a grenade between the lieutenant's legs while he was taking a crap."

Chaney pondered; disabling a radio was certainly easier than altering a satellite, which required NSA approval. And a realignment wasn't all that easy even with that.

He knew that a satellite occupied a stationary orbit, which means its orbit coincides with the rotational speed of the earth, keeping it in the same relative location at all times. For instance, the satellite over Alaska was forever directly over Alaska, and retro rockets had to be fired in controlled bursts to either speed or slow the satellite's trajectory. And any mistake with the rockets could destabilize its orbital distance, which could cause it to fall and disintegrate on reentry.

Chaney trusted that Dixon had asked about altering the orbit of a satellite, figured he knew which one, and may have even done it. But somehow Chaney suspected that Dixon would want things quieter. He wouldn't chance a high-risk maneuver as potentially scandalous as a re
-alignment if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Whatever this was, and. Chaney knew it was something, was too unstable. They couldn't endure the attention.

Chaney set the beer down and rose. "I've got work to do. Might see you later. Or I might be out of town
... way out of town, in fact."

Ponderous forearms on the table, Brick said nothing for a moment. Then: "Boy, I think you're in way over your head on this. I don't like it. Some
... what did you say? Creature?"

"For lack of a better word."

"Whatever," Brick continued. "This thing is up there, and you're going up there, and you don't even know what it is, where it came from, where it's going, what it's doing. You gotta think this stuff through." He raised a hand. "Now, I know what I said. But that's in normal situations. Not in situations where some monster is running around knocking down electric fences and tearing people's heads off." He paused, shook his head. "Now, I must say, I seen a lot in my time, but that's a real unusual situation. And now you're thinking of going up to where this creature has killed all these rangers and marines which, by the way, ain't all that easy to kill. Now, I don't know and I ain't gonna try and tell you what's the smart thing to do, but if I was you I'd do a little more homework with that smart lady scientist before I went off into the wild blue."

Chaney laughed, shook his head. "You always did have a way of putting things, Brick."

"Comes with old age."

A silence.

"All right," Chaney said. "Tonight I do a little snooping. I'll see what I find. I'll make a decision after that."

Brick nodded. "You let me know."

"You bet."

"And one more thing, Chaney."

Pausing, Chaney said nothing. It was rare that Brick ever called him anything other than "kid," although he was almost forty years old. But Brick, at sixty-three, had the right in more ways than one.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"This thing up there, it's up there," Brick said slowly, in a voice he used when he was dead serious, "it ain't real. Whatever it is, I don't know. Probably nobody knows. But you don't need to be playin' no hero. You shoot it on sight. Fair ain't part of this. 'Cause it'd do the same to you."

Chaney nodded. "Brick, whatever that monster is ... it could kill anyone."

Staring dead into its eyes, Hunter didn't move.

Neither attempted to retreat or close the distance.

The creature was slightly hunched, as if preparing, and even in its stillness it seemed to be drawing closer. But Hunter knew it was an illusion caused by adrenaline and fear. He had been in this situation before, so he tried to control his sudden lack of breathing caused by the shock of its words.

"Last night"—its words grated over smiling fangs—"you fought well."

Hunter braced himself, testing his foothold, and mentally measured the drop through darkness to the pathway beneath. He knew he couldn't make it unless the creature was distracted. But it was twenty times faster than he was.

He couldn't retreat, and a frontal attack was suicide. The only chance he had was that he might hit it hard, then drop, because it couldn't drop any faster than he could. But when he hit the floor he'd better come up running and use what T
aylor had given him. It was a risky gamble, and probably suicidal, but he was determined to not go down without a fight. Despite all his torn, sore muscles, he didn't feel any of them at the moment.

Gathering his courage, he frowned and spoke. In his mind, somehow, he couldn't reconcile himself to the possibility that it would respond. Part of him hoped it wouldn't.

"What do you want?" he asked.

A voice like dirt shifting in a grave: "You."

Hunter was shocked that it was hesitating at all. But there was obviously an unexpected measure of intelligent cruelty buried in that primitive mind, enjoying his fear.

"How can you
... how can you speak?" Hunter asked, watching it sharply as it lifted taloned hands.

"Humans," it said, laughing, and Hunter perceived that its vocal cords were never designed for this manner of articulation. "You are all ... so helpless."

Shifting his foot less than an inch toward the edge of the ledge, Hunter tried to engage whatever mind it possessed. "Why did you kill those people?"

"Because they are prey.
You
… are prey. You have always been prey."

That left nowhere to go; Hunter tried something else.

"So where did you come from?" he asked, closely watching its eyes. "You haven't always been here. I know that much. Before you kill me, you can at least tell me that."

"From inside you."

Hunter assumed his shock must have been revealed.

It laughed, genuinely amused.

"Oh, yes," it whispered. It held up its talons. "Look at these hands. Monstrous ... are they not?" Dark laughter. "What would your hands be like if you had my freedom? My strength! My power!" Silence. "Let me tell you. Then you would be like me! Yes! What do you see when you look at me? What do you see?” It nodded with a whisper, “You see
yourself.
"

Hunter shook his head, almost brought into the conversation, though his mind was flying behind his calm countenance.

"I would never be like you."

"You are already like me," it rasped, bending as if to charge. "The beast within you ... is all that I am. You think you are so noble
– so righteous. But you are nothing more than me beneath what you call 'human.' ' Its laughing found expression in a grating growl. "Yes, I am what you truly are. And you know it's true ... I am only what you are deep inside ... what you fear you are. What you know you are."

Hunter's foot was at the edge.

"You're insane," he said, calm. "Listen ... listen carefully to me: Let me take you in safely. We will not hurt you. But if you don't come with me, others will come for you. More men. More weapons. You are strong. But they will hunt you down. You can't beat the entire world. Sooner or later, they will corner you. And they will kill you. Don't be insane."

Roaring in a black and measureless mirth, it threw its head back, lost in the glory of its matchless might. "No, no ..." It lowered its head, smiling malevolently. Then it exhaled, releasing an impression of terrifying power. "No
...not insane . . ."

Hunter remembered what he had discovered at the research station, what he had suspected all along with the repeated attacks. Take a chance, he thought.

"What are you searching for?" he asked, giving no indication that he was split seconds from making a desperate attempt at escape. It stared at him a long moment, as if Hunter had abruptly distracted it from its intended thoughts.

"The other," it rumbled.

Hunter stared. "The other? The other ... the other one like you?"

The red eyes dimmed. "Yes."

Silence.

"And
... where is the other one like you?"

The fanged visage seemed to withdraw, somehow, within itself. The alien glow in its scarlet eyes verged on madness.

"I must find him. I must ... find him."

"Why?" Hunter never expected a chance question to carry him this long.

"To be complete."

A strange, wild theory struck Hunter.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, himself incredibly caught up for a split second. He stared intently with the question, as if to read the truth in its eyes. "They did this to you, didn't they? They made you into ...this. You were a man, weren't you. And now ...you're this."

A blazing roar of laughter caused the corded neck muscles to bulge like hot iron. Hunter saw the veins, twice as thick as a man's, pulsing fiercely with that savage blood, and then it stared upon him once more, seeming to revel in the garish moment of mirth.

"Foolish, foolish mortal," it whispered with spite. "No ...
they
did not do this to me ...
I did
this to me
!” Its chest rumbled with a strange growl. “I had the power to become a god and so …
I
became
God
!"

Now, with true horror, Hunter understood.

"What was your name?" he asked, somehow enlivened with an even sharper revulsion. He couldn't imagine that this monstrosity, with all its viciousness and blood thirst, had once been a human being.

"My name
... was Luther."

"Luther
... why did you do this? You're not a god. Nobody lives forever.

Fangs parted in laughter, but it was silent. No sound, not even breath, whispered forth for a still moment.

"To become as them" it answered finally, with a short bark of laughter. "To become as god on the earth. Unkillable. Because I am the strongest. Yes, the strongest. Nothing can destroy me. And I will live forever."

It was insane.

Hunter knew he couldn't reason with it.

"So you sacrificed your humanity for this," he said, edging toward the drop. But there was a trace of contempt. And remarkably, it noticed.

It smiled, and taloned fingers clicking once in that eerie, uncanny flexing that made them flicker and relax. Although subtle, it was horrifyingly threatening.

Hunter knew he was out of time, it was about to attack. Almost because he had to know, because he knew how this would end, he said what he truly felt.

"You're an animal now, Luther. Not a god."

Hunter steadily held its contemptuous stare.

As it paused, Hunter suddenly saw Bobbi Jo, the rest, moving silently from the far end. His heart raced but he concealed his alarm. He raised his eyes, measuring; they would need fifteen seconds at a full run to clear the tunnel. He had to stall it for at least ten.

It shook its head, and Hunter could sense something volcanic building within it; a tightening of its chest, the slight rising of the enormous shoulders and an almost invisible shift of balance. It didn't come closer, but it was only seconds away.