The wounds torn into its muscular body were deep and terrible, but Ghost revealed no pain.
"It's gonna be all right, boy," Hunter said quietly.
Ghost blinked again, silent in his pain.
A team of soldiers, locking and loading automatic weapons, surrounded them.
At the sounds, Ghost tried to rise. But Hunter placed a hand on him, continuing to speak in soothing tones. He talked about everything, about nothing, about what they would do when they went home. And he talked until the awesome, courageous black eyes glazed over, and the huge chest fell still. Hunter waited another moment, his hand soft on the mane, stroking his friend. Then he solemnly bent his head.
A frown twisted his brow as he rose, staring darkly at the weapons, the men. He feared none of them, and never would. Death would be welcome to him now. He almost invited them to shoot. Glancing across the faces, he found no leader.
"Where's Dixon?" he growled.
"Get on the ground!" a soldier bellowed.
It took a single long second for Hunter to turn his head to the voice. His countenance was deadly.
"Make me," he said, low.
The soldier stepped back.
Orders were barked, and Hunter glanced to the side to see Chaney rising, holding a hand to his bruised forehead. And Takakura was stirring, clumsily and painfully. Bobbi Jo lay where she had fallen; she made no movement at all.
Hunter moved for her, and a cacophony of voices and orders thundered in the air; he didn't give a damn. He reached her and rolled her over gently, checking the wounds.
A large blue-red welt on her head revealed where she'd been struck. And a narrow gash — the wound of a single claw — streaked her forehead, the blood already drying. Another clawed blow had split her Kevlar vest at mid-torso. But after carefully removing it, Hunter saw that the claws had only barely touched the skin, though she bled heavily from the cuts.
Despite the shouts behind him, Hunter turned to them in a low voice. "Do you have a medic with you?"
They cared nothing for his words. Nothing for his needs.
Bellowing now with authority, they told him what to do.
He stared at all of them: if dying was this, so be it. He would obey no one and nothing until he had helped his friends. Ignoring the conflicting orders, he looked to the side to see someone obviously in charge striding through the detachment: Dixon.
Hunter squared into him.
Without expression, Dixon came up, hands clasped behind his back with a hundred rifles trained on Hunter. Smiling faintly, Hunter communicated that he knew who had true courage.
Dixon was unfazed. He spoke boldly, frankly, and with a complete lack of concern or compassion for the suffering and sacrifice that Hunter and his colleagues had endured in the last three days. It was an attitude that Hunter had expected, but even he had not anticipated such a perfect, superlative level of pure arrogance and apathy at the death of so many; deaths that could have been prevented. Bowing his head, eyes hidden in shadow, Hunter didn't reply.
"Mr. Hunter!" Dixon kept his distance with the words. "I feel that it's only right to tell you: if you do not discard your knife in the next three seconds, my men will shoot you and everyone with you stone-cold dead! You are not a soldier! I am! Believe me, I say what I mean!"
Hunter looked into his eyes. Laughed.
"Three seconds?"
"Three seconds!"
"You won't give us more?"
Dixon laughed. "You're such a fool, Hunter. I am about to count. Remember. Three seconds."
Hunter nodded vaguely, understanding. "Okay. Count."
"One… two…"
Hunter lifted a hand from behind his back and the Bowie knife at the same time. Dixon's eyes widened as he saw the only bag of HD-66, the source of all they sought, poised at the tip of the blade. The slightest movement, even by accident, would split the bag and spill the precious liquid on the ground, costing them all they had schemed and worked toward for so long.
Instantly Dixon extended his arms, his words soaring over all else as he bellowed, "Hold fire! Hold fire! Hold fire! No one is to fire! Is that clear! No one is to fire! No one is to fire!"
Confused looks were cast at the CIA agent, and Dixon stretched out his arms as angry figures rushed from the complex behind them. Hunter recognized Hamilton. The rest, he didn't know. He stared back at Dixon as they neared, his hands dead-steady despite the adrenaline surge he felt in his system.
Chaney came up beside him, staring at the troops. He shook his head as he muttered, "America's finest."
Hunter heard Takakura rise, gain balance. Then the Japanese bent to help Bobbi Jo to her feet, lifting her gently to sit her on the fender of a truck. She didn't take the Barrett with her, even in her confusion knowing it wasn't necessary. There was a pause, and then her voice cut through the tension.
"I figured it would end in something like this," she muttered.
Hamilton halted, breathing heavily, beside Dixon.
"These…these are the men," he exclaimed, pointing. "They are guilty…they are guilty of sabotage!"
Dixon never removed his eyes from Hunter.
Smiling, Hunter never removed his eyes from Dixon.
"I think the right of decision has passed to Mr. Hunter, Doctor," Dixon said with cold assessment.
Hunter looked into his face and knew that Dixon would murder them instantly if Hunter gave them the serum. Only the threat of its destruction was keeping them at bay. He lifted his chin.
"Get everyone back into the choppers," he said. "Now."
Dixon shuffled and glanced at Hamilton, who now noticed the amber-filled bag in Hunter's rigid hand. The doctor's face blanched and he extended his hand: "You took it! You stole the serum!" He swayed a moment, shaking his head. "Was it from ingenuity, Mr. Hunter?" he added with hate. "Or was it the vengeful motivation to kill this magnificent creature?" The doctor laughed. "Yes, I know. You did not expect to use it in this manner, but neither did you hesitate."
Hunter shifted his eyes from Hamilton to Dixon.
"Tell you what, Dixon," he said softly. "You've got three seconds to lay down your weapons and get out of here. Your men fly. You stay."
Shocked, Dixon blinked. "You can't be serious."
"One…"
"Back in the choppers!" Dixon whirled, cupping his mouth for volume. "Get back in the choppers! All of you get back in the choppers! Move! Move! Move!"
They hesitated.
"Two…"
"Get in the choppers!" Dixon hurled an arm out, motioning violently. He grabbed the nearest soldier and flung him toward the Blackhawks. "All of you get in the choppers now! Do it now-now-now!"
Disciplined, they dropped their rifles and ran across the short space to the choppers. Then, as a helicopter filled with unarmed soldiers, the Blackhawks lifted off one after the other until they stood alone in the glade listening to the vanishing whirring of blades in the invisible night. Angry, Hunter focused fully on Dixon.
"Well, Dixon," he said, "I guess this is what they call 'reality.' "
Dixon smirked; he had had several minutes to collect himself. In turn, he glanced at Takakura, Brick, Bobbi Jo, and Chaney. When he looked back at Hunter, he revealed a rich amusement.
"Not much of your crew is left, Hunter." He almost laughed. "You go in with seven, come back with three and now you are trapped with nowhere to go even if you wanted to escape. My men are not fools, you know. They are waiting for you to attempt escape. And then, quite simply, they will blast you out of the sky."
"That's not your problem, Dixon," Hunter responded, stone-cold, with a hint of malice. "Right now you need to be thinking about how you're gonna get out of this alive."
Dixon glared into Hunter's eyes with scorn.
"You're lost, Hunter." He shook his head. "You're just out of your league, man. How do you think you can compete with us? We know everything. We're locked into everything…"