Hunter (57 page)

Time to finish this
...

"You're not listening to me, Hunter," Dixon implored. "The best thing you can do right now is just hand over the serum. Listen, I know you destroyed the relic. So all we have left is that bag because the
...the elements ...whatever they're called ...can't be synthesized. It has to come from the source."

"There's still him," Hunter said stoically.

Dixon paused. "Yeah, there's still that …
thing
."

"And what if I capture him for you?"

A laugh.

"I don't think I can authorize that, Hunter. Things are too out of control."

"It was authorized before."

"No
," Dixon shook his head, "not really. That was just smoke and mirrors. You were there to make it look official.” He sighed, “We never really wanted you to find it. But we never wanted you to kill it, either. We just wanted it to look like we were doing our best. And it worked." Impressed with his own genius, Dixon nodded. "Worked pretty well, actually. Answered a ton of questions and everybody thought we were doing the right thing. We'll never catch any heat. Because we used the best tracker in the world, hired the best hunting team in the world, and you guys did all that anyone could do, so no matter who wants heads roll after this, I’m covered like a blanket." He smiled. "I'm a pro at this, Hunter."

With no hesitation Hunter drew the
Bowie and smoothly slashed the serum bag, spilling the precious liquid onto the dirt. As he dropped the bag to the ground, Dr. Hamilton gaped.

Shocked, Hamilton stood in place, mutely extending arms to where Hunter had trashed his life's work.

Dixon, disappointed, shifted slightly in his stance, staring at the ground. It was a moment before he could find the appropriate words, but his tone retained an air of professional calm.

"You know, I figured you were gonna do something like that," he commented.

Hunter controlled the moment, nodded.

"And then there was one."

"Aaahhh..." Hamilton managed, arms extended in mute protest.

Dixon cast the scientist an annoyed glance before focusing again on Hunter, the team. He looked over all of them for a long moment, shaking his head in amazement. "You're really planning on taking this crew out one more time?" he asked. "Have you looked at yourself lately, dude? You're wasted! Your team is wasted! All of you, especially you, look totalled. Yeah, I know you're a tough guy, survival is an art you cultivate, all that. But you ain't gonna last three days out there. All of you belong in the hospital, man, not some jungle. And I've got more happy news for you."

Silence, as Dixon smiled.

Chancy walked up. "No," he said. "You can't be serious." He searched Dixon's face as he stopped, standing beside Hunter. "You can't tell me they're that crazy."

"Oh, yeah, they're that crazy," Dixon confirmed, casually glancing at his watch. "We've got ... oh, about twenty-six minutes, I'd say."

Hunter laughed brutally; he didn't have to be told.

A moment of strange silence reigned.

Dixon was impassive, and the rest were too emotionally burned out to feel anything at all. Only in their minds did they dispassionately realize that this entire area was going to be vaporized by an air attack, erasing any traces of the research facility, the records, the dead, the creature, the earth itself.

What would remain here in half an hour would be a blasted piece of planet that would burn for days until only ashes smoldered in the midst of a strangely silent and deserted wilderness. There would be nothing for prosecutors to examine, and nothing hidden. It would be as if it had simply never existed at all. And any investigation, should it happen, would die with nothing but innuendo, suspicions, and questions easily deflected.

"The lab is two stories belowground," Chaney said. "How are they gonna blast something that's forty feet down?"

"Oh, I ain't sure," Dixon responded casually, lighting a cigarette. "I suppose they'll use a fuel-air bomb. It was the only thing strong enough to destroy underground bunkers in Iraq." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter, really. Fuel-air. Sidewinders. Dragons. Whatever. But they'll do the job right, I guarantee you. So in less than half an hour, gentlemen, and lady, this glade will be a solid sheet of glass. No experiment. No facility. No evidence. No monster. No nothing."

The CIA man maintained his casual air. Hunter knew Dixon was certain that he and the others would be airlifted out on the single remaining Blackhawk as quickly as possible. Dixon believed they wouldn't leave him behind to die.

Bobbi Jo walked past them. "I'm going to get the professor," she said to Hunter. "We have to get out of here."

Watching her lope with amazing strength—considering her injuries— across the compound, Hunter judged her strong enough for the task. He turned back to Dixon. "That was your plan all along, wasn't it?" he asked. "You were gonna perfect the serum, trap that thing in the complex, then raze the whole place. Perfect containment. Everyone is dead. You've got what you want. And there's no evidence at all that anything happened." He shook his head. "Almost the perfect plan, Dixon."

"Almost?" The agent smiled. "I'd say it was perfect, Hunter. Except for you." He cocked his head. "I must admit, I never figured you would muck things up the way you did. My fault; I underestimated you. But, well, that's what happens when you make last-minute changes to a perfect scenario. Guys like you get involved. And you think you got it all figured, but this guy, whoever, turns out to be some kind of war hero. Just won't lie down and do as he's told. And then ..." He motioned around him, "you have gold-plated FUBAR."

"I die hard," Hunter said.

Dixon acknowledged it with a nod. "Obviously," he replied, spitting out a piece of tobacco. "Too hard, it seems. But I don't think you're gonna survive the firestorm that's gonna be dropped on this area in about twenty minutes."

"You still don't have the serum, Dixon."

At the mention of "serum," Hamilton groaned and closed his eyes. His hands had fallen to his sides and he stood in awful silence, head bowed in misery. Hunter ignored him.

Dixon was angry. "No, Hunter, we don't."

"Well, then"—Hunter stared at him—"I guess it all comes down to you and me. What are you gonna tell your bosses when they see how you messed this up? Think they're gonna be happy that, after this 'perfect scenario' of yours, they're out a billion-dollar facility, have to answer a congressional investigation and still don't get the serum?" He nodded. "I think Siberia is in your future, Dixon."

"Well," the agent answered calmly, "you may be right. I don't think they're gonna be too pleased at this end result."

"So what about it?"

"What about what?"

"What about letting us go after it?"

Dixon's eyes narrowed, calculating. "I must say, destroying the serum was a masterstroke, Hunter. But there are other trackers. And I'm sure we can find someone as skillful as you. Perhaps even more skilled." He spat out another piece of tobacco. "No, you're not irreplaceable, son. And when things calm down, we'll locate and capture the thing." He smiled. "Hope is not lost."

"You're deluding yourself, Dixon, and you know it. There's only one person in the world who stands a chance of finding it, and that's me. But I have to move fast." Hunter used his trump card. "If you cooperate, I'll have it for you in six hours."

Dixon laughed. "You've had a week, Hunter! How are you gonna find it in six hours?" He raised an arm to the forest. "Hell, it could be anywhere! Look around you! Look at yourself!"

Confident and smiling, Hunter stepped closer to the CIA man. "I know where it's going, Dixon," he said quietly. "I know exactly where it's going, so this won't be a track. You give me six hours, and I'll have your serum for you. But you have to give me six hours. Then you can go back and tell your boss that everything went according to plan. They're in the clear. You're in the clear. They have what they want. The evidence is destroyed. And you get kudos and a pat on the back."

Clearly it was tempting. Gazing solidly at Hunter as if to discern a lie, Dixon released a long, slow stream of smoke, rolling the cigarette in his fingers.

"Six hours?" he asked.

"Six hours."

"And then?"

"Then you have what you want," Hunter nodded. "And we go free."

Silence, minutes ticking.

"You're gonna try and do something, Hunter," Dixon said, absolute suspicion in his eyes. There was no doubt, and it disturbed him. "I don't trust you."

Hunter's smile was dim.

"Okay, Dixon, hire another hunting party." He turned and walked away. "Good luck."

"Wait."

Hunter hesitated.

"I want some insurance," Dixon said. "I want the woman to stay with me. Then I'll know you won't break our deal."

"Negative. I'm gonna need her."

"You're planning something, Hunter!" Dixon walked closer, glanced at his watch. "You think I'm not used to this? This is all I do! Of course you're planning something! You don't want that creature alive! You want to kill it! And then you want to destroy it so we'll never have the serum!" He raised his hands, as if in divine supplication. "Hunter, I have got you figured out! I've had you figured out! You're a very self-righteous kinda guy. It aggravates the hell out of me. The only thing I was wrong on was how hard it is to kill you." He blinked, utter frankness in his demeanor. "To tell you the truth, son, 'cause there's no love lost between us, I thought all you guys would be dead by day one. No offense, but that was the plan. But noooooo ... you're just like the bloody Energizer bunny! You just keep going and going and going! Except that I'm not as stupid as the good doctor here. And I'm not gonna let you go after that thing unless I've got some pretty good insurance that you'll bring it back."

"Okay," Hunter replied, smiling. "You can come with us."

Stunned silence, and it lasted. But Hunter did give Dixon credit for a quick recovery.

"No way," he said.

Hunter had watched Bobbi Jo approaching, and his eyes focused hard on her as she stopped, head bowed. He didn't need her to say it, and he bowed his head, too.

The professor was dead.

Something in Hunter told him that everything, his whole life, all he would ever be, had come down to this. He had lost the only two creatures he had ever truly loved, and in the same hour. Death didn't seem so bad now. But he wouldn't go out defeated. He turned his head briefly to Chaney.

"Fire it up," he said, and grabbed Dixon by the collar, hauling him across the compound.

"Jesus, Hunter!" Dixon shouted.

For a frantic moment, suddenly reduced to using primitive physical force instead of calculated threats and the power of an invisible empire of espionage and secrets, Dixon was dumbstruck. For all his brave talk and
sinister promises, he had been heaved, in the space of three seconds, into a world where civilization and its power could not help him. He was talking fast, hearing himself protest as he was dragged along.

He stumbled but Hunter's strong right arm hauled him to his feet, the tracker never breaking stride as they closed quickly on the chopper. "Come on, Hunter!" Dixon pleaded. "You gotta believe me! They'll shoot us down!"

"Then they'll shoot you down, too," Hunter snarled, using the pain of the professor's death for strength. He violently hurled Dixon into the bay and was instantly on top of him as the rest grabbed seats and Chaney took the controls. Brick glanced at his watch, at Chaney.

"Two minutes, kid," he said.

"We'll make it."

Hamilton was at the bay, scrambling to enter.

With Dixon under control, Hunter turned on the no-longer-dignified physician. He spoke quietly. "Doctor, you might want to get some distance from your facility before they incinerate it. A lot of distance."

Hunter closed the bay in his face.

A muted scream of horror penetrated the steel door above the sound of rotors and twin turbos. "Everybody hang on!" Chaney yelled over the intercom. "I'm gonna have to try a cold takeoff. It might be rough!"

It was.

Without sufficient hydraulic pressure the Blackhawk pitched hard to the left, swinging across the field at an almost vertical angle before Chaney managed to stabilize the rotors, bring the nose up sharply. Then, rising hard, they cleared the edge of the forest and swept into roaring gray light.

Gazing down into Dixon's terrified face, Hunter took a moment to make it more real.

"This is what it comes down to, Dixon," he whispered, leaning close. "Death ... is that what you're scared of?" Hunter frowned. "Well, you've sent hundreds of people to their deaths, Dixon, so you should be used to it! And let me tell you, you're gonna know exactly what they knew! You're gonna know what it's like to stare that thing in the eyes!"

Trembling, Dixon raised his hands. "Hunter, listen, man, you've lost it ..."

"It's gonna be in your face" Hunter whispered. "And if you live ..." He laughed, "... you'll never forget the face of each and every one of the people that you sent up here!"