Hunter let that settle.
"You're the top man at this facility, Colonel," he continued. "If anyone has a right inside that facility, it's you. You don't work for the damn NSA. You work for the United States Army, and it's your responsibility to ensure that this entire facility is safe. And that includes the laboratory."
A long silence followed.
"What is your point?" Maddox asked, at last.
Hunter felt genuine sympathy.
"My point, Colonel, is that Dr. Hamilton, whatever his real name is, has played you for a fool."
Maddox's face froze.
"My point," Hunter continued, knowing he couldn't hurt the man any more deeply, and not enjoying it at all, "is that Hamilton is performing experiments in there that are illegal and immoral and unethical and against presidential mandates and you are unknowingly aiding him in his crimes. My point, Colonel, is that if you, with the full power of your rank as a colonel in the United States Army, a colonel who is risking his own life to protect this facility, are not allowed into any area of a facility that you are assigned to protect, then someone is attempting to usurp your rank and play you as a fool, sir."
Maddox's face went scarlet with rage. Rising from the table, he casually straightened his coat.
"We shall speak of this again," he said coldly.
Walked off.
Hunter didn't find any portals sealed between the commissary and the infirmary, but every doorway had two uniformed guards with M-16's at port arms. They didn't say anything to him and he said nothing to them. He entered the ICU and found the professor sitting on the edge of the bed. Tipler raised excited eyes as Hunter paused, but a quick glance at the heart monitor told him the beat was steady. Tipler gazed at Ghost and smiled. Yet when he looked back at Hunter, his expression instantly altered, hardening until the pale blue eyes burned in a bloodless, exhausted face.
"We must leave this place, Nathaniel," he said, heaving a single deep breath. "If we do not, we will be dead by morning."
Hunter approached the bed. He grasped the old man's arm and squeezed it. "Listen, Professor," he began, "there's nothing you can tell me that I don't know. I know more than even you do, at this point."
Tipler stared.
Hesitating, keeping the heart monitor in view from the corner of his eye, Hunter said quietly, "It spoke to me, Professor. It spoke. No matter what it is now, once it was a man. Something… happened here."
Hunter had expected surprise, shock. Instead, Tipler's mouth closed grimly. He nodded almost imperceptibly. In a moment he gazed at the wall as if he were gazing at the whole facility.
"Those fools," he said.
Relieved that he didn't have to explain, Hunter leaned farther forward. "You know, just like me, that it's coming here." He waited until the professor nodded. He added, "I'm going to try and get you out of here. The rest of the team will fly out with you. They'll protect you."
"And then you will go out to meet it," Tipler replied.
Hunter's face was cast in stone. He said nothing.
Tipler looked away. "Yes," he said, a sad nod. "I knew…and I knew it earlier." He paused a long while. "You have been compelled your entire life, Nathaniel, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. It is something I have always admired in you. It will always be the greatest, and is the rarest, of all human qualities. But…yes, I knew what you would do. It is no surprise. You needn't be concerned at my shock. Because there is none."
Hunter's brow hardened as Tipler smiled. "You expect me to say that it is suicide, and that you cannot survive," he said, smile turning to frown. "But you, alone of all men, may be able accomplish this. And if you cannot, then no one can." He paused. "I feel a measure of guilt as I say this, my boy. But if you cannot stop it — and it must be stopped — then nothing can stop it. I would, I admit freely, sacrifice both our lives if we could destroy it. But I am old, and weak…"
Hunter smiled, pushing him slightly back on the pillow. He shook his head as Tipler began to speak. Neither did Hunter say anything to end the discussion. He simply nodded, turned, and walked to the door. Then he looked at Ghost — so large he filled up a quarter of Dr. Tipler's cubicle.
Glaring down sternly, Hunter pointed at Tipler.
"Guard!"
Ghost padded over to Tipler, then placed both paws on the bed and stood up. Even bent on hind legs, staring down on the professor, he was nearly six feet tall. Obviously happy, Ghost panted, glad to see Tipler again. The professor laughed.
As Hunter tilted his head, about to tell Ghost to get down, Tipler raised a hand to cut him off.
"Leave him be, leave him be," he laughed, rubbing the huge black head. "I am glad to see my old friend."
Chapter 17
Chaney descended into the guts of the C-141, a jet-powered transport plane with double bays and a lower tier that cached all small arms and equipment, to see Brick bent over an ammo box normally reserved for rifles.
Brick was obviously running an inventory on the contents, counting and clearing weapons. His hands moved with professional familiarity and a quick dexterity as he cleared, worked the bolt, reset the weapon and obtained another, repeating the procedure with a reflex of trained muscle memory that was impressive.
Chaney realized it had been a long time since the old man had seen any real action, and he was as impressed by Brick's familiarity with the weapons as he had been as a rookie U.S. Marshal. He knelt beside the older man as he silently studied the crate's complete arsenal. Brick's lips moved as he counted to himself.
Chaney saw two M-79's — shotgun-type grenade launchers. They resembled a large single-shot shotgun and had a row of grenades attached to a sling.
On the black market, where Brick had no doubt purchased them, each of the grenades would have cost at least fifty dollars, if they could be obtained at all. Then Chaney saw two larger rifles, huge oversized weapons like double-barreled shotguns. He pointed to them.
"What the hell are those, Brick?"
Brick picked up one of them and Chaney saw that the wood was highly varnished, almost a collector's item. Yet the double bores were gigantic. No, not a shotgun.
"These babies are Weatherby .454's," Brick said in his heavy voice, cracking the breach. "They fire a .454-grain slug from each barrel at a velocity of four thousand feet per second. At a hundred yards the bullet will break the spine of a full-grown bull elephant. At closer range, if you get a shoulder shot, it would go completely through 'em, come out the other side and keep going 'til it hit a tree big enough to stop it. I worked with 'em last summer and, just for fun, put one round through four solid feet of oak. There ain't nuthin' made by the hand of man that hits harder at close range."
Staring at the weapon — heavy steel construction, peerless wood stock and handle securing the two twenty-inch bores — Chaney believed it. "But it only gives us two shots, Brick, before we have to reload. What if we have to tight this thing at close range?"
Brick grunted and pulled out a large revolver. Chaney knew what it was when he saw it: a Casull .454 caliber.
It appeared to be just a normal six-shot revolver at first glance. But upon closer observation it was obviously a beefed-up version of the Colt Peacemaker. The cylinder was modified and heavier and only held five rounds with a six-inch barrel to allow a longer powder burn.
Chaney knew from his limited knowledge of weapons that it was a favorite defensive sidearm of back-country Alaskans because the Casull could drop a grizzly or a Kodiak brown bear with a single round. According to experts, it was the only handgun for practical self-defense in a wilderness inhabited by large predators.