Tipler laughed sympathetically.
"I appreciate your concern, Nathaniel. I truly do. You have always had my best interests at heart, and you have never disappointed me in your support. But the issue has been decided: I shall accompany you on this trip." He held Hunter's stare and leaned forward, seemingly taken by a thought. "Don't you understand what we may have here, my boy?" He paused. "I mean, have you truly imagined?"
Hunter didn't blink. "A killer is what we have, Professor. And it'll kill you or me as quick as it would kill anything else." In this, Hunter's certainty seemed to temper his tone. "This thing doesn't care about guns or greater numbers, Professor. It won't be driven like a tiger. And I don't think it can be baited or ambushed or trapped. Whatever this is, and right now I don't have a clue, is probably the most efficient killing machine on earth. And we'll be alone with it on its home ground. These people talk a lot about a backup team, but if this thing attacks us, we won't be alive when any backup team arrives. So make sure you're willing to die over this before you go into those mountains to find it."
Obviously grateful for the words, Tipler displayed his resolve. "I understand, Nathaniel. But I am committed to this adventure." He laughed gruffly. "Perhaps, at my age, it will be the last adventure of my life. No need to deny an old man one last stab at feeling alive."
After a moment, Hunter looked down. His jaw tightened almost im-perceptibly, and he nodded.
"There." The professor clapped his hands sharply. "It is settled. Now, where is that big horse you call a dog?"
Hunter shook his head with a faint smile. "He's outside."
With a laugh Tipler rose and walked up the slate-gray ramp to the double doors, and when he was outside they heard his booming voice. Through the window Hunter saw Ghost rear on hind legs, fully as tall as the professor as he licked the old man's face. Faintly he could hear Tipler's booming laugh.
It was Tipler who, so long ago, had helped Hunter nurse Ghost back from death. Without any charge the professor had liberally dispensed antibiotics and necessary drugs and vitamins as he tenderly cared for the cub's wounds. And when Ghost was ill with parvo it was Tipler who had kept him in his own home until the wolf wore out the infection.
For six weeks it was touch and go, but Tipler had vigilantly remained by the wolf's side with Hunter, sometimes injecting near-lethal doses of saline solution and Thorazine to prevent the endless convulsions from shredding the wolf's intestines. But in the end it wasn't science that defeated the plague; it was Ghost's pure brute strength and un-killable will. He had simply refused to die when agony and Nature had told him to die. And after three weeks he stood on weak legs.
Now Hunter watched Tipler laugh as he half-wrestled with the wolf, and knew some part of Ghost's animal mind had never forgotten the kindness. The old man was the only person besides Hunter who could touch him. Then Hunter's mind turned to other things. Darker things.
Finishing his meal, he stood.
"All right," he nodded. "Let's get on with it."
"This creature" — Maddox used a laser pointer on the topographical map—"is moving south in a straight line. It used the Anaktuvuk Pass to cross over the Endicott mountain range. Our trackers told us that much. Then it continued south. Pathfinders lost it somewhere around there." He pinpointed the Sistanche Gorge, located about a mile beneath the pass.
The support team had not yet arrived. Hunter gazed about the room. "You sending the professor and me in there all by our lonesome?" he asked mildly.
"Well." Maddox skipped a single beat that seemed somehow important. "This is not like any kind of team we have used before, Mr. Hunter. As you know, we were forced to assemble them from around the world. And, if I may reiterate, they are the best in the world at what they do, each handpicked for a specific skill. They are soldiers but they are also, to the last, men who are proficient hunters."
Hunter stared, saying nothing as Tipler laughed out loud. Then: "You make it sound as if it is a feat of remarkable engineering to assemble such a team, Colonel. Is it so difficult?"
"No, no," Maddox said convincingly. "We have the best people in the world, gentlemen. Be reminded, we are talking about the United States military, here. However the unnatural events of the past week have caused quite a, uh, a stir, and… uh, in case of some contingencies we have recruited one or two foreign nationals for the team. It is only a precautionary action, and won't affect unit integrity or final authority."
"When do they arrive?" Hunter asked.
"Well… why do you ask?"
"Because the tracks are getting old." Hunter leaned forward. "This soil is hard, good for tracking. But there's still gonna be erosion. Deterioration. And from the pictures, these tracks already have 5 curves in them, which makes them even harder to read. Plus that, a lot of them will be covered by leaves and debris. You've got severe temperature variations in the mountain range, and that's gonna age them even faster because the change in heat and cold will break down the edges. If you want me to go after this thing, then we need to move as soon as possible. Every day we wait makes it more difficult."
Maddox absorbed it, staring at Hunter for a long moment. "All right, Mr. Hunter. From our latest intelligence I believe the team will arrive by early morning. Then you can begin." He moved to the table. "Now, let me give you something to examine."
He lifted a plaster cast of the creature's footprint and almost gingerly presented it to Hunter, who laid it down. Professor Tipler removed his eyeglasses from the front pocket of his vest and leaned forward as they looked closely.
They studied it for a moment in silence.
"Well?" Maddox asked finally. "Now that you've seen a cast of the print, what do you conjecture? Surely the cast can tell you more than a mere photograph."
Hunter delicately ran fingers over the impression. "How long from the time of the attack to the time this cast was set?"
"Approximately six hours."
"Weather conditions?"
"Dry."
"Wind?"
Maddox paused. "It was relatively mild, I believe."
"Was this in sand or dirt or clay?"
"Simple dirt, I believe." Maddox appeared frustrated. "Why do you ask? Yes, yes, I remember what you said about time and age and erosion and how the tracks are affected by these things. But now, having seen the cast up close, surely you can give me some idea as to what we are dealing with."
Tipler cast Hunter a concerned glance.
"Gentlemen?" Maddox pressed. Frustration was quickly graduating to nervousness.
With a sigh, Hunter shook his head. "It's a plantigrade walk," he said simply. "It's bringing the heel of the foot all the way down to the ground, like a human. Normally, when you see a track, an animal is moving at its usual slow rate of speed. But this thing was moving fast. Running. It's probably male, because it pronates. Males tend to walk more on the outside of their feet while females tend to supinate, or put more pressure on the inside of the foot. And it's not very old, because there's not any mulling."
"Mulling?"
Hunter waved vaguely. "It's complicated. It takes years of practice before you can read something's age in a track. Don't worry about it. But I'm pretty sure this thing isn't more than five, maybe six years old."
"You still have no idea as to what it is?"