Alien Caller (46 page)

“The other
reason is of course if he thinks I’m dead. I can’t spare you the
pain of what he will do to your people if you won’t let me kill
him, nor the crushing guilt that will come from knowing you could
have stopped it if only you’d allowed me to do my job, but perhaps
I can save myself and Cyrea. It isn’t much, but at least it’s
something. So please, at least let him believe he killed me.”

Cyrea stared at
him for the longest time, concern in her eyes. But she knew better
than to offer her advice. It was simply something that she knew he
couldn’t accept. He lived in his paranoid world and she in her
logical one, and on this matter they would never meet. Not until
Dimock was dead. But at least she perhaps understood some of why he
was the way he was. Soon, after he’d given them the records or the
history for them to check themselves, she would have more
understanding.

But none would
ever truly know his suffering, his world until they walked among
Dimock’s victims and understood his failure. He prayed he wasn’t
alive to see that day.

“Thank you for
listening.” He didn’t really mean it, but he had to at least try
and appear civil, in control of himself, and maybe it was enough as
he watched Cyrea click off the device. Cyrea though could see the
fear and rage lurking behind his eyes, and he knew she would not be
fooled by him.

Before she
could say anything, try to reassure him when he knew there could be
no such thing, he changed the topic. Anything to stop her staring
at him as if he was a mad man.

“So the bad
guy’s been caught, I’ve been fixed again, it seems you’ve got
everything covered.”

“Not quite,
Love.” He raised his eyebrows in a mute question. “You’ve been
asleep for nearly a full week now, and there are literally hundreds
of investigators running around the place like crazy. They can’t
find Dimock or you, and they’re not happy with any of the answers
the neighbours can give them. There are plane crash experts keeping
a vigil on the jet you blew out of the sky, an army contingent
based around your house, forensics people everywhere, and so many
trackers in the surrounding woods it's like a convention.”

Which David
realized, was only what he should have expected. But having been
out of it for a whole week, a week in which the DOD had had no
answers, they would have gone into panicked overdrive, and they
wouldn’t stop. Not until they knew for sure whether Dimock was
alive or dead. Alive, they’d have to recapture him, something they
were no doubt unwilling to try; dead, and they’d have to find out
how. And since he was the only one that could answer their
questions, assuming he was alive, they'd interrogate David until he
was pumped dry. But of course he realised, those who knew Dimock,
knew what he was, they didn't expect to find him alive. They would
have a very simple understanding of what had happened. Dimock had
won and left the area, and now it was just a question of finding
David’s body and waiting for Dimock to show up somewhere else.

“They think I’m
dead don’t they?”

“That seems to
be the prevailing view.”

“Ohh shit!” Of
course it was. It was so very close to the truth, and in their
shoes it was exactly what David would have thought. No one could
take on Dimock, no matter how well prepared. All of which left him
with a problem, and a decision to make. Did he want to stay dead?
He could, he could give up his normal life, throw away his home by
the lake and the money in the bank, and perhaps begin a new life
with Cyrea and her people.

Was he ready
for that? He didn’t really know, though a large part of him was
saying yes. But he also realised that regardless of what he did,
the town was in trouble. Whether he was alive or dead, the agents
would not leave until they had some absolute proof that Dimock was
either alive and gone or dead. That meant endless security patrols,
curfews, and the Leinians staying hidden for potentially months or
years. He had a duty to help the locals and the Leinians,
especially when he’d brought this nightmare on them, and that he
could only do if he was alive.

“Honey, I need
to get dressed, and then have a chat with Lar and the others. We
need a plan to get these people out of here and return things to
normal.

Chapter
Eighteen

It was nearly
two months before David was able to get his life back together. A
very long two months that had begun with the interrogations.

The
interrogations had been done in the hospital naturally enough.
There was no time to waste. And they had not gone easily, though he
fancied he’d convinced the agents at least of his honesty - even as
he lied through his teeth. The polygraph had been less than totally
effective as he’d been bandaged like a mummy, meaning that some of
the sensors couldn't be placed on him. Equally any deviations in
his readings would have been put down to the ordeal he’d suffered.
Besides, with so many agencies involved, each with their own
competing agenda, the investigators spent more time arguing among
themselves than asking him questions. Nothing was more important to
the CIA and the DOD than making sure the Feds never found out about
Dimock.

It helped of
course that the Leinians had given him some new wounds - he’d
insisted when he knew the pain would screw up their readings and
add credibility to his story - and a substance on the back of his
teeth that upon licking would immediately cause him to faint. Each
fainting spell broke up the interrogation before it began, and made
his performance seem more real, though it also caused the
questioning to be dragged out over several days. They’d also
cleverly concealed an organic device in his flesh that randomly
altered some of his electrical impulses. The result; lie detectors
no longer worked well on him, something the agency doctors put down
to the ordeal he’d suffered and the drugs he was being given.

The story he’d
told while a load of tripe, was based as accurately as he could on
what he remembered of the fight, which squared well with the
physical evidence. It only differed in the ending.

In the new and
improved version he’d trapped Dimock, luring him back into the
tunnel and then collapsing it on top of him. And then while he was
trapped in dirt, he'd wounded Dimock seriously, a lucky shot
catching him in the eye, and napalm burning off large chunks of his
flesh. And with those devastating injuries crippling him, he’d
actually managed to match him in physical combat. They had the
blood spattered ground to support that. A lot of the madman’s blood
gave strength to his claim. His own blood as well. Dimock had
broken then, and run, something David could barely bring himself to
say. It was simply so far from the truth that it defied belief. But
they believed him.

In the new
version he’d chased Dimock into the hills intending to finish him.
He'd hunted him for over a week, all the time dealing with his own
injuries. Both of them being in such bad shape, it had been a long
slow hunt, and neither had really had much of a shot at the other.
Instead they mainly walked and later crawled through the hills,
taking random pot shots at each other’s fleeing forms and becoming
generally more lost by the day.

Finally, David
had become so ill, that he couldn’t continue. Hypothermia was
setting in, and the blood loss was making him light headed. He’d
realized if he didn’t get to a hospital relatively quickly, he’d
die, and by that mark, Dimock would win. So he’d slowly staggered
his way out of the woods, heading for what he thought was town,
flagged down a passing car, and the rest was history.

David had never
seen Dimock’s body, so couldn’t truly say whether he was alive or
dead, which explained the lack of a body. But he could at least
convince them that he was so badly wounded he was unlikely to
survive. The electricity and the gas, the napalm and bullet wounds
had all taken a serious toll on him, and the extensive blood loss
and infection from his many injuries must have left him close to
death. It was just that David had lost him somewhere.

It was a fine
line he had to walk. He had to leave Dimock somehow alive so he
could explain his missing corpse and make all the action occur
miles from anywhere important, so that they wouldn’t find anything
to lead them to the Leinians. At the same time he also had to try
and convince them he was dead. That more than anything, would
convince the agencies that they could leave. Of course it didn’t
help that he couldn’t actually tell them with certainty that Dimock
was dead, or at least safely out of the picture. If he did then
that would bring them back to the missing body, and when they
didn’t find it they might uncover some of his other secrets.

Fortunately
there were the thousand and one other questions to be answered.
Such as how he could be so well armed? The FBI told him from the
start that they considered his fortifications a crime. Especially
those not on his own property. But they were quickly over-ruled in
their desire to press charges by the other agencies present. The
last thing anybody wanted was a public trial, especially when it
was a clear cut case of self-defence. Besides, the agencies never
wanted the Feds or the police to have any idea of just how
dangerous Dimock was, and more importantly, why. Neither did they
want anyone, most especially the FBI, to know much about David’s
previous life. He was just a former intelligence operative for the
army.

The air force
for their part never wanted the public to find out that a military
jet had been stolen let alone used against a U.S. citizen. They
were calling it an accidental downing, and the twenty three people
who’d died on the base had apparently been caught in a freak
explosion. No one at all spoke about the deaths at the secret
research facility and prison where Dimock had been held for the
last six years. It didn’t even exist. Though the whisper from those
DOD agents that might know something was that hundreds had died,
their bodies entombed in a top secret fallout shelter in Area 51,
never to be retrieved. Dimock had decided to use nerve gas on them.
Where he’d got it from no one knew, but the results were as
predictable as they were tragic.

Far from being
upset with David the army examined his set up with interest. They
weren’t happy at how he’d obtained the weaponry, especially when it
looked like they might have paid for some of it themselves, but
they were still interested to find out how it had performed.
Meanwhile the local Feds were trying to pin at least two dozen
murders of their own on Dimock, and in the process also trying to
understand how anybody could be so dangerous. Or so psychotic.

To get to
David, Dimock had stolen cars, cash, and food from any number of
premises, been chased by police across five states, engaged in
numerous gun battles, and generally enjoyed himself immensely.
Hundreds had died. On the way he'd broken in to the Government’s
highest security financial bureau to find out where David's pension
was paid to, and fifty four more people had died there even before
he’d reached the army base, and they were mostly civilians. Worse,
they had been killed in a manner that defied both belief and
possibility. The savagery was something they’d only ever
encountered once before, and that man was long since dead, executed
in a joint naval, army and CIA operation, while the strength
involved in the crimes made superman look puny. The Feds had the
right to investigate though the other agencies were determined to
stop them.

At the same
time the FBI was putting some of the fingerprints they’d managed to
smuggle from the various crime scenes together with the records for
one dead teenager, also a mass murderer, though no superman. They
smelled a rat, and with fifteen dead state troopers at two road
blocks in two states to deal with and another thirty nine dead
civilians across the country, they had the mandate to pursue it and
the determination. They wanted answers. Answers they believed would
start with him.

The Feds knew
though they couldn’t prove it, that it had something to do with the
other agencies, and were busy probing, hard. Moreover, what they
couldn’t find out themselves, they leaked to the media, hoping the
embarrassment would force the other agencies into a confession.
David didn’t actually have to answer any of their questions. In
fact he wasn’t allowed to. Instead other agents given the job of
tailing them simply seemed to turn up out of the blue every time
they approached him, and gave them their pat lines. David just
agreed with them which was as much as he was allowed to do.

Meanwhile
questions in Washington were also flying back and forth as to why
the CIA could possibly be involved in activities on US soil? Why
was the DOD trying to take charge in a civilian matter and refusing
to allow the Feds access to witnesses and crime scenes? How had the
army managed to let one of its fighters be stolen? Unfortunately
their questions were getting no answers and the agencies
stayed.

The CIA and
Army for their part were more concerned with ascertaining how David
had got the launcher and the gas, while at the same time
desperately trying to prevent the Feds finding out what they wanted
to know. Thus they’d launched a major offensive on the Feds at
every level. They were lobbying the joint chiefs and the political
offices frantically, hiding David from them at every opportunity,
and even resorting to a dirty tricks campaign against their
investigators. The DOD was especially determined in the last. But
then some of the doctors and research programmes that had made
Dimock so deadly were theirs.