A stunned silence.
Maddox was the first to speak. "You can tell all that from those photographs?"
Hunter nodded.
"But… how?"
Hunter waved a hand at the photos. "Sideheading, dulling and compression, pressure release marks, wave and pitch, curving. Simple things, Colonel."
"But our pathfinders, our trackers…they couldn't tell us all that."
Hunter sighed. "Well, I'm sure that your people are good, Colonel. But that's what I see. You can take it or leave it."
Maddox said nothing for a moment, turning and strolling across the room, cupping his chin. He seemed to be pondering. After a moment he looked at Dixon. "Mr. Dixon, I'd like a word with you," he said. "In private."
Dixon, black glasses concealing his eyes even here, held Hunter's stare for a long moment before he turned away, walking across the room. Hunter leaned against the table and watched them whisper. He didn't know what they were discussing but he had an idea. He had no plans to cooperate.
"Mr. Hunter." Maddox walked back slowly. Clearly, he was attempting to phrase his words carefully. "I would like to make a request, and I would like for you to genuinely consider it before you reply." He lifted his face, honest for all Hunter could tell.
He nodded. "Go ahead."
"This, uh, this situation," Maddox continued, "is not exactly what it seems. I'm sure you consider it to be a tragedy that our soldiers were killed. And remember, these were all good men. Men with families. But there is more to it than that."
Hunter said nothing.
"In truth, Mr. Hunter, this creature, whatever it is, has killed many times in the past three days — mostly military personnel, bodies that we can conceal, in a sense. But it seems to be headed south. And soon, if it continues on its current course, it will reach a populated civilian area."
"Why can't you find this creature by triangulating infrared signatures from satellite?" Hunter asked. "The technology exists for a hunt like this through the global imaging system. Seems like you could isolate its heat signature."
"We're not fools, Mr. Hunter. We've tried that. But there is an abundance — an overabundance — of large animal life in that area. There's moose, bear, elk, wolf, so many creatures that tracking by heat signature is futile. What we need is someone who can track this one, specific creature. Because if it reaches a populated civilian area, I am not certain how successful we will be in containing it. Tens, perhaps hundreds of people would die." Maddox raised his hands, almost plaintively. "Now, I realize that you're not under, nor have you ever submitted to, military command. Nor, should you decline, can I compel you against your will to assist. But I am asking you as a man — as an honorable man — to help us. I am asking you to help us track this thing down. I'm asking you… to help us kill it."
Hunter absorbed it awhile in silence.
"Your people aren't sufficient?" he asked.
"No," Maddox replied flatly. They've already tried and they failed. In fact, they died. The results were…discouraging, to say the least."
Hunter stared at nothing, said nothing for a long time.
"We have a killing team assembled," the colonel continued. "You need not be involved in that aspect. If you can only track this creature through those mountains, somehow give our people an opportunity to confront it, then your job will be done. You will be present as an observer. And the team that we have assembled is extremely proficient. You will be quite safe. In fact, it may be the safest action you've undertaken in some time. One other thing we learned was that you are a man prone to taking risks."
Hunter rose slowly, turned away.
He stared out the window and searched the surrounding tree-line, already dark. And he half-scanned for Ghost but knew the wolf would remain invisible unless he wanted to be seen. Yet he would be there, unmoving, waiting, listening to every word. And if Hunter were attacked, the great black image of pure animal fury would roar into the cabin like a storm with flashing fangs and claws, and God help anything mortal that got in his way. Somehow Hunter knew he had already made the decision but he waited, sensing something that troubled him.
"All right," he said finally. "But for this I'll need Ghost."
A pause.
"Whatever you want," Maddox said, nervousness entering his voice at the mere mention of the wolf.
"And I won't submit to military command or authority." Hunter turned back with the words. "If I lead the track, then I'm the one that leads. Nobody countermands my decisions or my methods. This is gonna be hard enough as it is. I don't want someone who doesn't understand what I do trying to give me orders."
"Of course not. I will ensure your authority in certain areas. This…this support team will be present only for the confrontation."
Hunter turned away again, staring into a slowly gathering dark. He could tell from the air that a cold front was coming, rain not far behind. But there was something else, something that continued to hover over him — a premonition.
He felt it, but couldn't identify it. Yet he had made his decision, realizing that, if innocent lives were truly compromised by a creature as obviously powerful as this, there was really no choice.
"Set it up," he said, low. "Let me know."
Maddox swayed. "Good. Just be aware this is going to happen soon. Perhaps as early as tomorrow."
"That's fine," Hunter said, glancing at Dixon one last time.
Utterly concealed, Dixon's eyes were reflectionless pools of black, revealing nothing. And Hunter sensed rather than read the faintest apparition of a smile on the haggard face. And he knew that whatever disturbed him was hidden in that darkness.
Chapter 3
It's where the map ends; an unforgiving, heavily forested frontier of permafrost, tundra, glacier and air that froze skin at the touch. Hunter had been here once before, and knew it was an easy place to die.
Countless hikers, adventurers, and even native Alaskans had lost their lives in the merciless terrain of the Brooks Range. And Hunter didn't underestimate its brutality. He knew that it was through respect and caution that a man stayed alive in these mountains. And a lack of either would have only one outcome; the land was littered with legends of those who failed to heed advice and went unprepared into the high country, never to be seen again.
Hunter knew what equipment was essential for the average trapper or camper: a large-caliber scoped rifle, a shotgun, plenty of ammunition for both, an oversupply of preserved food, an ax, hatchet, sheath knife and a smaller folding blade for skinning, a tent, topographical map of the areas with federal emergency stations marked, a compass, rope, rain slick, matches and flint for making fires, a ball of leather twine, emergency medical equipment, grain for two pack mules and a horse, and a radio.
But Hunter traveled light, trusting his life to his skills. He never challenged the forces of nature, he respected them. But he knew he could effortlessly live off the land for weeks at a time and could improvise shelter in even the most hostile weather. So he carried all he needed in a compact belt rig that rested at the small of his back. He also had a pouch on a leather strap that went over a shoulder in the style of ancient Apaches. Inside it he carried air-dried beef jerky, herbal pastes for either cooking or wounds, a compass and map, and lesser-known tricks of the trade for tracking — chalk, a marking stick, pebbles.