Just listening to it caused Bryce to break out in a cold sweat.
Copperfield reached the locker. “Let me at that handle.”
“It's no use.”
“Let me at it!”
Bryce got out of the way.
The general was a big brawny man — the biggest man here, in fact. He looked strong enough to uproot century-old oaks. Straining, cursing, he moved the door handle no farther than Bryce had done.
“The goddamned latch must be broken or bent,” Copperfield said, panting.
Harker screamed and screamed.
Bryce thought of Liebermann's Bakery. The rolling pin on the table. The hands. The severed hands. This was the way a man might scream while he watched his hands being cut off at the wrists.
Copperfield pounded on the door in rage and frustration.
Bryce glanced at Tal. This was a first: Talbert Whitman visibly frightened.
Calling to Bryce, Jenny came through the gate. She had three screwdrivers, each of them sealed in a brightly colored cardboard and plastic package.
“Didn't know which size you needed,” she said.
“Okay,” Bryce said, reaching for the tools, “now get out of here fast. Go back with the others.”
Ignoring his command, she gave him two of the screwdrivers, but she held on to the third.
Harker's screams had become so shrill, so awful, that they no longer sounded human.
As Bryce ripped open one package, Jenny tore the third bright yellow container to shreds and extracted the screwdriver from it.
“I'm a doctor. I stay.”
“He's beyond any doctor's help,” Bryce said, frantically tearing open the second package.
“Maybe not. If you thought there wasn't a chance, you wouldn't be trying to get him out of there.”
“Damn it, Jenny!”
He was worried about her, but he knew he wouldn't be able to persuade her to leave if she had already made up her mind to stay.
He took the third screwdriver from her, shouldered past General Copperfield, and returned to the door.
He couldn't remove the door's hinge pins. It swung into the locker, so the hinges were on the inside.
But the lever-action handle fitted through a large cover plate behind which lay the lock mechanism. The plate was fastened to the face of the door by four screws. Bryce hunkered down in front of it, selected the most suitable screwdriver, and removed the first screw, letting it drop to the floor.
Harker's screaming stopped.
The ensuing silence was almost worse than the screams.
Bryce removed the second, third, and fourth screws.
There was still no sound from Sergeant Harker.
When the cover plate was loose, Bryce slid it along the handle, pulled it free, and discarded it. He squinted at the guts of the lock, probed at the mechanism with the screwdriver. In response, ragged bits of torn metal popped out of the lock; other pieces rattled down through a hollow space in the interior of the door. The lock had been thoroughly mangled from within the door. He found the manual release slot in the shaft of the latch bolt, slid the screwdriver through it, pulled to the right. The spring seemed to have been badly bent or sprung, for there was very little play left in it. Nevertheless, he drew the bolt back far enough to bring it out of the hole in the lamb, then pushed inward. Something clicked; the door started to swing open.
Everyone, including Bryce, backed out of the way.
The door's own weight contributed sufficiently to its momentum, so that it continued to swing slowly, slowly inward.
Private Pascalli was covering it with his submachine gun, and Bryce drew his own handgun, as did Copperfield, although Sergeant Harker had conclusively proved that such weapons were useless.
The door swung all the way open.
Bryce expected something to rush out at them. Nothing did.
Looking through the doorway and across the locker, he could see that the outer door was open, too, which it definitely hadn't been when Harker had gone inside a couple of minutes ago. Beyond it lay the sun-splashed alleyway.
Copperfield ordered Pascalli and Fodor to secure the locker. They went through the door fast, one turning to the left, the other to the right, out of sight.
In a few seconds, Pascalli returned. “It's all clear, sir.”
Copperfield went into the locker, and Bryce followed.
Harker's submachine gun was lying on the floor.
Sergeant Harker was hanging from the ceiling meat rack, next to a side of beef-hanging on an enormous, wickedly pointed, two-pronged meat hook that had been driven through his chest.
Bryce's stomach heaved. He started to turn away from the hanging man — and then realized it wasn't really Harker. It was only the sergeant's decontamination suit and helmet, hanging slack, empty. The tough vinyl fabric was slashed. The plexiglass faceplate was broken and torn half out of the rubber gasket into which it had been firmly set. Harker had been pulled from the suit before it had been impaled. But where was Harker?
Gone.
Another one. Just gone.
Pascalli and Fodor were out on the loading platform, looking up and down the alleyway.
“All that screaming,” Jenny said, stepping up beside Bryce, “yet there's no blood on the floor or on the suit.”
Tal Whitman scooped up several expended shell casings that had been spat out by the submachine gun; scores of them littered the floor. The brass casings gleamed in his open palm. “Lots of these, but I don't see many slugs. Looks like the sergeant hit what he was shooting at. Must've scored at least a hundred hits. Maybe two hundred. How many rounds are in one of those big magazines, General?”
Copperfield stared at the shiny casings but didn't answer.
Pascalli and Fodor came back in from the loading platform, and Pascalli said, “There's no sign of him out there, sir. You want us to search farther along the alley?”
Before Copperfield could respond, Bryce said, “General, you've got to write off Sergeant Harker, painful as that might be. He's dead. Don't hold out any hope for him. Death is what this is all about. Death. Not hostage-taking. Not terrorism. Not nerve gas. There's nothing halfway about this. We're playing for all the marbles. I don't know exactly what the hell's out there or where it came from, but I do know that it's Death personified. Death is out there in some form we can't even imagine yet, driven by some purpose we might never understand. The moth that killed Stu Wargle — that wasn't even the true appearance of this thing. I feel it. The moth was like the reincarnation of Wargle's body, when he went after Lisa in the restroom: It was a bit of misdirection… sleight-of-hand.”
“A phantom,” Tal said, using the word that Copperfield had introduced with somewhat different meaning.
“A phantom, yes,” Bryce said. “we haven't yet encountered the real enemy. It's something that just plain likes to kill. It can kill quickly and silently, the way it took Jake Johnson. But it killed Harker more slowly, hurting him real bad, making him scream. Because it wanted us to hear those screams. Harker's murder was sort of like what you said about T-139: It was a demoralizer. This thing didn't carry Sergeant Harker away, It got him, General. It got him. Don't risk the lives of more men searching for a corpse.”
Copperfield was silent for a moment. Then he said, “But the voice we heard. It was your man, Jake Johnson.”
“No,” Bryce said, “I don't think it really was Jake. It sounded like him, but now I'm beginning to suspect we're up against something that's a terrific mimic.”
“Mimic?” Copperfield said.
Jenny looked at Bryce. “Those animal sounds on the telephone.”