"It looks human, Gina."
"'Looks' is the pivotal word," Gina replied, adjusting the scope again. "Watch what happens when I use electrophoresis. I'm going to magnetize the segment and see if it curls away from the positive or negative electrons like human DNA would."
After a moment, the distinction was obvious.
"Nothing is happening," said Rebecca.
"Exactly. Nothing is happening. But it should be."
They stared at the DNA strand, which seemed remarkably resilient to the magnetic provocation. Gina delicately added a slight amount of phosphorescent dye to the sample. In technical terms it was called fluorescent in-situ hybridization, or "FISHing" for short. It was a process in which geneticists locate particular genes in much the same way as a computer could search and locate for a particular word in a text.
"I tried to find out why the segment was so resistant to electrophoresis," Gina added. "And I found a hybrid segment of restrictive enzymes that accelerate cloning. Actually, they don't just accelerate. They clone so quickly that an invasion, like a virus or bacteria, is almost instantly absorbed and destroyed. The only thing this DNA lacks is the ability to reproduce enough of itself to construct a consistent molecular polymerase chain."
Rebecca was bending toward the screen. "And what, exactly, does that mean, Gina?"
"It means that, it this strand were complete, which it isn't, it would be able to clone, or, rather, duplicate, polymerase genes indefinitely. Which means, in effect, that it would have almost unlimited cellular reproductive capabilities."
Rebecca was silent for a moment. "Okay, let's suppose you're right on this. But let's check the preliminaries. Have you used sanitation procedures to make sure the cast wasn't contaminated?"
"Since it arrived, yes."
"And do you think you can print this out?"
"Yeah. But some of the sample will be destroyed. It's going to be impossible to pull it through without damage."
"I know," Rebecca said slowly. "But we'll still have enough for a printout. That's all we've got and that's all we should need. When you get this into the spectrograph and give me a reading, I'll run it down to Langley."
Gina turned. "Langley? Why Langley?"
"Because those are the guys behind all of this," Rebecca said. "I've got a contact there, somebody that Doc put me in touch with before he left. He's supposed to help us out."
Absorbing it, Gina turned back to the microscope. "Okay," she said in a low voice. "I'll have it ready for you in about an hour."
"Good enough," Rebecca whispered. A disturbed frown creased her face as she gazed at the screen. "So, this is our mystery man." Her eyes narrowed. "What is it that scares me about this guy?"
Glancing across the small glade, Hunter saw Bobbi Jo tightly holding the Barrett sniper rifle. It was an awesome weapon, and the full metal jacket cartridges were each six inches long.
Hunter couldn't imagine her taking the recoil of the savage detonation required to hurl a three-hundred-grain bullet as far as two thousand yards. But now that he knew what it was, he remembered that he had heard accurate hits at that range, and even farther ones were not outside the ability of the weapon.
He remembered that an emergency shipment of Barretts had been ordered by the U.S. Marine Corps after the 1983 attack on their barracks in Beirut, Lebanon. And in days following the attack they had more than proven their effectiveness at long-range combat.
Since they had begun tracking together, Hunter had developed sincere respect for the sniper. She said little, never seemed to lose patience, and only challenged his judgment when she had good reason. Yet if he overruled her ideas, she didn't debate. With a silent nod she would quietly tall in beside him, and he noticed she was learning from his movements. In time, he thought, she could be vastly superior to the corps of army trackers that this thing defeated so easily at the research facility
And, somehow, he was beginning to wonder if it might not also defeat him, too. He had been frustrated before, mostly by bobcats who walked so softly and carefully, leaving no sign. But never by anything of such enormous size and weight.
Even large cats, like cougars and tigers, were much easier to track than a bobcat because their heavy paws, which enhanced silence, also left distinct impressions. But this thing ruled in the worst of both worlds. It rarely left a clear track because it selected the hardest surfaces, always made the smart move, and couldn't be predicted.
Hunter's face hardened as he pondered it, and then Bobbi Jo shouldered the rifle and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, tying it with a deft move. Afterwards she paused, staring at the perimeter, motionless and concentrated.
Hunter anticipated the movement, saw it in her profile before she even turned and, slowly, bent her head to gaze steadily at him. She didn't blink, didn't smile. And he held her look for a long time before he frowned, turning his attention to the professor. He had prepared the old man a meal from a large trout he had cooked and smoked that morning, knowing he himself would need the energy. But he sacrificed it now because of the old man's health. He had also given him a generous amount of pemmican — a mixture of beef jerky and animal fat. It was highly nutritious and kept for long periods of time in even the most extreme conditions. It had been a favorite staple of mountain men and American Indians, and Hunter always carried a small supply.
After a while the professor seemed to regain a measure of strength, though his face was still whitened, glistening with a sheen of sweat. Hunter knew it was the sudden run through the forest to the clearing that had strained him.
"Drink some more water, Professor," Hunter said. "Dehydration kills quick this high."
"Yes, yes, so I've heard," the old man replied, smiling faintly. He took a sip. "Ah, yes, a rather…electrifying experience, that was." After a moment he asked, "Will it attack tonight, do you think?"
Hunter shook his head. "No way to know."
"But what do you think, my boy?"
Raising his eyes to scan the extensive perimeter, Hunter saw everyone alert with weapons ready. "It could, Professor. But it's too unpredictable. This thing doesn't move or think like anything I've ever tried to—"
Hunter joined what happened next by reflex.
Buck had been the first to unleash, the shotgun shredding the night at a titanic and monstrous image of underworld might that had broken the south treeline, charging out of the dark with an imperious air of indestructibility. And not even a full second passed before they opened up together, six weapons blazing outward. But Hunter spun toward the center when Bobbi Jo finally fired — the Barrett detonating with at least five feet of flame mushrooming from the barrel in a tremendous concussion that made the other weapons seem insignificant.
Stunned, Hunter whirled back to the beast, still firing. But he saw that the incredible impact of the Barrett had stopped the beast in stride, wounding it in the collar. Then Bobbi Jo had fired again, the brutal collision of the round staggering it backwards into the brush as the rest continued to hurl a wall of heated lead.
Falling back awkwardly with a wounded roar, it rose again as the forest around it was devastated by multi-weapon fire. Then, holding a hand to its chest, it staggered away. They continued the attack for another moment before Takakura bellowed for them to cease fire. But he was forced to repeat his command a number of times before they fell silent in a swirling gray atmosphere of smoking rifles. The ground was littered with brass cartridges and spent shotgun shells, and echoes of the wild cascade reverberated off distant mountains.