It was a head he would keep.
Chaney didn't like the feel of it.
The Tipler Institute was obviously a prestigious academy for intellectual dialogue. The listing in the lobby was a virtual who's who of scientific heavyweights. Obviously, securing a tour of the privately funded facility was a much desired honor. Although the professor's photo and position were clearly displayed, Hunter's presence was conspicuously absent from the decorations.
He sensed the direct attention of a rather impatient looking young woman approaching him from a nearby hall. Displaying the full scope of his limited charm, he smiled.
"I'm Gina Gilbert," she said, crossing her arms. She didn't seem particularly impressed by his Deputy U.S. Marshal credentials. "Is there some way I can help you? I'm very busy at the moment."
"I understand." Chaney flashed his creds respectfully. "I wanted to talk with Dr. Tipler."
"He's not in the facility."
"Might I ask where I can contact him?"
"He's on an expedition and it might be a week or so before he's near a communications facility," she answered, tilting her head. "Aren't you aware of the expedition?"
Chaney debated for a split second. "Well, I heard that he was participating in some manner with the State Department," he said — without discernible hesitation, he hoped. "And, in fact, that's what I wanted to speak with him about."
"Well," she said, somewhat slower, "maybe I can assist you. What do you need to know?"
"Are you familiar with the nature of his trip?"
"Yes."
"The trip to Alaska?"
She blinked. "Yes." A pause. "What is it that you want to know, Marshal Chaney?"
Chaney enjoyed her using the "marshal." This close to Washington, he wasn't usually given the courtesy. In fact, the closer you got to the capital, the more unimpressed people became with the presence of a federal agent. Whereas in the heartland, say Oklahoma or Montana, flashing U.S. Marshal credentials would get you instant cooperation — or at least a free meal.
"I'd like to discuss Dr. Tipler's role on this expedition," Chaney continued. "If you have the time, I'd like for you to show me anything you have on it."
She was silent a moment, studying Chaney's innocent smile.
"All right, I've got a minute." She turned away. "Follow me, please, and I'll show you what we've been studying."
It had been awhile since Chaney had done any hunting, but he could tell immediately that whatever had made the plaster imprint wasn't a bear. It wasn't anything he had ever seen. And if he could believe this woman, he wasn't alone in his belief.
"And Dr. Tipler couldn't identify what manner of creature made this cast?" he asked, bending low. "I mean, isn't he the expert the experts turn to on this kind of thing?"
"He's the foremost expert in the world, Marshal," Gina said as she laid a long printout on the table. "This is the DNA printout that we mapped from a fiber taken from the bottom of the cast. It couldn't be seen with the naked eye but I spotted it on a microscope and we did the test the day before yesterday. Do you understand DNA coding at all?"
"No." Chancy shook his head. All he saw were rows upon rows of repeated letters. It meant nothing. "Can you explain it to me?"
"Not as well as Dr. Tanus."
"And that is…?"
"Rebecca Tanus. She's in charge of the Institute while Dr. Tipler is on his expedition." Gina folded the printout. "She should be back later if you want to stay around and talk to her. She'll be in Langley until then, if you want to try and reach her immediately."
Chancy tried to keep his voice low and calm. "What's Dr. Tanus doing at Langley?"
Gina obviously sensed nothing sinister about it. "Well, she went down there to deliver these findings. We could have faxed them but we don't have secure lines here. Dr. Tanus was nervous about it."
"I see." Chaney mused. "Does she have a cell phone?"
"Sure." She reached for a book as the phone rang, picked it up as she opened it. "Yes," she said, slowing her movement. "Yes, this is Gina. Can I help you?"
Chaney saw her face open little by little in obvious shock, but barely heard her almost inaudible words when she finally spoke. "Thank you," she whispered. "No. I'll take care of it."
Silently she set the phone on the hook.
Chaney knew.
"Gina?" he said quietly. "Are you all right?"
She didn't look at him.
"Dr. Tanus," she said dully. "She's dead."
Chapter 11
Holding a bleeding rib cage with one hand, he followed them on the slope parallel to the trail. He remained on the far side of the river, which provided more cover for his footfalls with the plenteous moss and wet leaves; he was intent on remaining unseen and unheard.
Hunger devoured him, and he realized that he must eat to rebuild his strength so that he might destroy them. But he was concerned. Soon, he was certain, he would find elk, deer, wolf or wolverine. It did not matter; he would consume them quickly, and the nutrients would power his body to transform the flesh into new flesh, strengthening it for the final hunt that lay ahead.
He growled, almost smiling, and leaped from a rock to drop almost without sound between two huge cedars that provided shadowed silence. As he landed, his ribs tore in sharp, lancing pain and he suppressed a roar. Yes, soon he must eat in order to heal, for his body was exhausted. Raising vengeful eyes, he stared at the woman. He wanted her most of all, now, after the man. For she held what could wound him.
He drew a black pointed tongue over blackened gums and his lips drew back in a submerged, vibrating snarl that made his chest close with the effort. The breath he inhaled afterwards swelled the huge nostrils that allowed him to take in oxygen at a rate far greater than these meager humans were capable of doing. He knew what they were doing, and his reddish eyes glanced at the wolf…the wolf…
He hated them all…
He raked the ground as he watched them run, forcing dirt deep beneath his claws; he loved the feeling. So he did it for a while, enjoying the pleasure. And then he glanced down and saw the ragged remnants of pants he still wore.
It mattered not.
He did not feel the cold as they felt it. Did not feel the pain of briar and rock as they felt it. Did not feel remorse at shedding their blood, or ripping their meaty hearts from their chests to squeeze the blood into his mouth like a grape. No, he felt nothing, body or soul.
His mind, or what was there before it had changed, was only some distant half-something, dim and unimportant. Though somehow, he knew, he even yet retained some ability of primitive speech — some unexpected leftover effect of this strange merging of mind and flesh. Yet it had left him with mechanical aspects of his former self. And he might yet tell them, before he killed, that he had purposefully chosen this glorious form, and infinitely preferred it to life in the puny, mortal husks that carried them around.
His mouth twisted as he tried to form words, but his vocal cords had been altered somehow, and the sounds whispered raggedly from his fanged mouth. Yes, he almost longed for the chance to speak to them — especially to the man — and tell them that he would live for ages. That he would be alive when the man's children were dust, and his children's children — that when all this faded, and fell, and rose again, he would still be alive in this godlike form.
As he considered the experience, the thought became as delicious as the flesh and blood he must soon taste.
Yes, he would speak to the man. He would torture the man with the knowledge that he was not simply a beast but that he was far, far more. And that he would always be more than they could ever imagine.
Then he thought of the others, the ones like him who would be there, waiting. And how, when he joined them with his superior mind, they would make war again. Would drive the puny ones into holes where they would feast on their brains.