"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!"
Dixon, trembling uncontrollably, closed his eyes, hands raised plaintively.
Remorseless and still emotionally traumatized by the professor's death, Hunter threw him back and turned angrily. A mushrooming orange balloon rose silently in the distance, a sphere of pure white fire expanding, rising, fading to red as it topped the trees.
The air filled with the roar.
"Hang on!" Chaney yelled.
The concussion struck them like a physical wave and the Blackhawk was hurled into a turn, whirling crazily as the helicopter shivered, quaking and trembling, spinning wildly.
Chaney s choked cries from the cockpit rose above it all and Hunter, thrown to the panels, saw the marshal struggling madly to regain control of the craft. He attempted to rush forward to help, knowing he couldn't, when a secondary shock wave — a wall of heavy air rushing overhead to fill the vacuum created by the explosion — smashed them from the opposite side and the helicopter pitched again.
With a curse Chaney righted the Blackhawk as the sky behind them brightened brilliantly, flame expanding to rise higher and higher, mushrooming in fire that only at the last darkened the horizon at once, fading slowly to silence with the dimming echo of roars rippling over unseen mountains.