"But if these guys were conducting research in germ warfare, then they couldn't have done it without classified materials," he continued. "You can't just go down to the library and pick up specifics for those bacilli, and you don't want to waste time duplicating twenty years of research. So you start where others have left off" He felt solid in his suspicion. "What if they really were developing new means of germ warfare instead of a means to counteract it?"
Brick smiled wryly. "It'd just shock the hell out of me."
Shaking his head, Chaney paused. "But if they were doing that, they'd be in violation of an Executive Order."
"Well, ain't we a young Sherlock." Brick laughed, setting down his coffee cup. "Look, kid, the United Nations treaty, which the United States never got around to ratifying, by the way, prohibited the development of germs for warfare. Everybody agreed to destroy what they had. End of story. Except you know that if we think some goombah out there may have something, then we might need a serum for it. Can't be playing 'catch-up* in a war, right?" He shook his head. "No, they don't want to shamble around like some drunk in the dark trying to catch up to a bug some Middle East moron drops into a lake or water tower and we got cities going out left and right. No, we want to be ahead of the game. Always. We ain't never stopped developing them after the treaty. Not completely, anyways. But we slowed our butts down a lot until we got that wake-up call from the Gulf."
"Saddam," Chaney said.
"Yeah, and that's why they don't want to play catch-up again. Saddam could have hit us with something as simple as anthrax and wiped us out. And that, my friend, scared the bejeepers out of everyone from the Pentagon to the White House to Ma and Pa Kettle in Podunk. Or he could have used other kinds of germs and caused a world of hurt, 'cause we weren't prepared. The only reason he didn't is because he suspected — and rightly so — that we would vaporize his heathen butt and turn Baghdad into a sheet of glass. End of story. And since then, I know as fact, we've been putting heat on developing something that is resistant to the more dangerous forms of bacterial attack. So, then, these places might not have been dedicated to the development of more biological weapons as much as they were dedicated to developing the countermeasures. The only bad thing about that is you can't develop serums without bacilli and virus to test them on. But, if it was legit, then why all the secrets? And what I just said, despite what I might be inclined to believe, doesn't explain the deaths of marines. I don't know the details, but I heard they were cut down pretty bad."
Chaney paused. "Which…which just leaves us with a few obscure facts. One is that the NSA handed this company millions for medical equipment. Second, that whatever these goombahs were doing was important enough to have a Ranger platoon at each site." He was silent a long time. "Brick, do you think someone is running black operations under government sanction, but the op's gotten out of hand? Maybe this thing — whatever it is — is just a disguised attack so people can reach whatever these fools have developed up there?"
Brick was studious a long time. "Likely," he said at last.
"That's what I'm beginning to think," Chaney mused softly, almost to himself.
Seemingly morose, Brick began wiping his hands on a dishrag. "Well, you ain't got the nuts and bolts to make that call. You gotta have more hooch. You know that."
"Yeah," Chaney mused. "I know."
Brick grabbed his coat. "You listen to me, kid." He didn't smile. "No matter what, always remember one thing. You don't run into a fight. You walk into it. And there's bodies enough already on the ground that they won't hesitate to lose you, too. Remember the rules. Three-call everybody. False ID. Watch your back. Change cars every day. Stay off the cell phone. Land lines only."
"Yeah, I know." Chaney smiled. "I remember, Brick. I ain't a geezer yet."
"Yeah, well, don't underestimate a geezer, either." Brick reached the door. "Hey, I just got a new crate of brand-new M-l Garands yesterday. Best battle rifle ever made. Want one?"
Chaney laughed. "Brick, what do you need all those guns for? You can only shoot one at a time."
"Huh," the big man grunted as he closed the door. "Guess 'cause I'll never know when some boy that I turned into a United States Marshal might get his butt in the wringer. Something like that, it might make ol' Brick mad."
Laughing, Chaney walked toward his car. "I appreciate everything, Brick."
"What's your next stop, kid?"
"A junkyard. Then the CIA."
Brick stared after him.
"There's a difference?"
Together they were on their feet.
The first sound they heard was Ghost growling.
The second sound was a subterranean rumble.
Immediately it was followed by a raging, almost reptilian roar on the far side of the wall that seemed to hang in the air and then closed with a horrific impact that struck the wall like a truck, bringing down dust from the roof. A concussion, hurled by the incredible collision, swept over them in what felt like a sonic boom.
"Good God," Taylor whispered, stepping back.
They took a line behind the wall, and the next impact was equally as titanic — a thunderous, wrecking-ball forearm brought down with unbelievable force on the reinforced logs.
They edged back.
It continued again and again, a ceaseless uninterrupted crashing that would occasionally halt for the briefest heartbeat with a shrieking, outraged roar only to be followed by another thunderous impact that reverberated like a gunshot through the mine.
Hunter noticed they were still backing up.
"Hold it here," he said angrily. "We can't give it any more room."
"Maybe we should give it something else to shout about," said Taylor.
Only one of them possessed a weapon capable of penetrating those logs. Hunter glanced at Bobbi Jo. She raised the Barrett.
"My pleasure," she said.
She waited until the next colossal impact and then, with a surgeon's detachment, tracked the barrel a foot to the right. Bracing, she pulled the trigger of the .50-caliber sniper rifle, hurling a three-hundred-grain solid-steel bullet from the barrel at over four thousand feet per second. The blast itself was tremendous, blinding and deafening them together. And a large section of wood splinters shot over them at the impact, exploding from where the Barrett penetrated the logs.
On the far side a haunting pause was followed by an enraged scream. And then an even more monstrous blow was hurled against the barrier. It cracked the third beam — positioned at chest level — down the middle.
When Hunter saw it crack, he knew what would strike the mind of the beast. He was right.
It had found a weak spot, and it would seize the moment.
There was a short pause with a spiraling roar of victory, and then an incredibly colossal blow, and another, and another, and with each one the log cracked deeper with a sound that was even louder than the primordial howling that preceded it.
"Get ready!" Hunter shouted.
One final blow followed, and two cleanly split pieces fell into the mine in a swirl of dust.
Two red eyes glared at them from the darkness, white fangs distended in victory. Then, as it screamed mockingly, they opened fire together, filling the tunnel with fire and splintering the wall with the cascade.
Hunter saw it stagger back. But he could see nothing more, and they continued firing until the rifle barrels were dangerously overheated. Then they paused together, as if afraid the weapons were about to melt down.
There was a faint ringing, the choking scent of cordite in the air, thick smoke carried from the entrance by the out draft of the mine, and Hunter saw nothing in the space of the severed log. Nothing but darkness.
Together they edged slowly forward, not trusting their hearing since they were temporarily deafened by gunfire in the enclosed space. Hunter held up a hand after a dozen steps, motioning for the others to stop, and edged another step.