Hunter (37 page)

Chaney thought about it, knew Brick was right. That's how it was usually done. And the Tipler Institute, despite their delicate research materials and equipment, wouldn't normally violate such a fundamental and simple rule of security.

"You're right," he muttered, suspicion low but rising. "That's how it's done." He wondered if the morphine had dulled his edge to make good field judgments. "What do you figure?"

"Well," Brick said, hunkered over the steering wheel, "I figure if there's two, there's probably four. Or six. We won't see 'em, but they'll be close. If they're waiting to open up on us, they'll be coming out of the woodwork. This could get ...mean."

Chaney frowned. He expected to be upset that he might be walking into an ambush. And, strangely, he didn't care. He figured that he'd already been through so much that another gunfight wasn't enough to arouse his emotions.

He put the Sig back in the belt holster, but didn't snap the hammer guard. It wasn't much of an advantage, but it would allow a speedier draw by a split second. "Let's do it."

Brick cocked his head as he put the Lincoln in gear. "You're the boss."

In five minutes they were walking very, very slowly across the parking lot. Chaney kept his hand casually on his concealed pistol, scanning everything without appearing to. Then they reached the door and Brick put his back to it, staring over the lot. His burly arms were crossed over his barrel chest, and to anyone else he would have appeared perfectly harmless. Only Chaney knew that each of those huge hands were settled tight on Uzis.

The door opened cautiously.

"Yes, sir?" asked the guard.

Chaney didn't ask permission as he shoved the glass door open and motioned the man aside with his credentials. "I'm Chaney, United States Marshals Service!" He pointed at the man with authority. "I want you beside that desk. Now."

"But—"

"Now!"

Complying instantly, the man joined the second guard—mid-thirties with reddish hair. Chaney saw that they both carried Smith and Wesson Model 19 revolvers. The Model 19 was probably one of the finest out-of-the-box weapons available, and was chambered for either .357-Magnum or .38-caliber rounds. A dangerous weapon.

Chaney didn't trust either of them.

"Both of you, take out your guns real slow, lay them on the table. Then take three steps back and don't do anything stupid. We may have a crime in progress and you'll get them back as soon as I verify that the situation is not an emergency."

Brick had taken a position where he could simultaneously watch connecting hallways and the lobby. He had removed the Uzis and held one in each hand as he looked continuously around the perimeter, scanning. Chaney heard the sharp crack of the safeties as Brick flicked them off, preparing to fire at the faintest warning.

In the brightly illuminated entrance, Brick seemed distinctly out of place: a burly prizefighter type holding submachine guns while surrounded by prestigious peace awards which lauded the Institute's global attempts to save endangered species.

"I don't see nothing, kid," Brick said, still searching.

Chaney emptied the revolvers and tossed them onto a couch. "Get Gina Gilbert on the line right now," he said, motioning to the phone with his Sig. He followed with, "Before I lose my patience!"

Instantly the first guard was ringing the laboratory. Chaney had the guard wait a long time, but there was no reply. Brick cast him an ominous glance and Chaney shouted, "Page her, boy! Just get her up here right now! I don't care how you do it!"

The guard, galvanized by the imperious tone, tried a host of lines paging one area of the installation after another. After five minutes Chaney knew they'd have to make the long walk back to the laboratory. He reached over and grabbed the first guard by the shirt. "Come on," he whispered. "We're walking."

"B-B-But ..." He pointed to the desk. "I have to watch the—"

"All you have to do is what I tell you." Chaney cut him off, feeling remarkably stronger as the tension spiraled. "We're going to the laboratory and see if we can—"

It was a sudden movement—an out-of-place quickness—that made Chaney hurl the man to the side. As he did, he saw a shotgun coming up in the hand of the red-haired guard, but he knew it was too late. The barrel of the weapon had already cleared the desk.

Brick opened up with both Uzis, tearing through the guard and devastating the wall behind him, the desk, pictures, and computer equipment. Chaney knew what would happen next and didn't hesitate.

Holding the Sig in his right hand he reached across, thrust the barrel under his left arm, and fired as his former prisoner lunged. The round hit dead center, and to make sure Chaney fired three more rounds before shouldering the corpse aside, knowing there would be more.

Almost instantly he glimpsed the door behind Brick open a crack. He spun and fired the bullet, missing the retired marshal by inches. Brick, knowing the point of impact and understanding, also whirled, firing hard and long into the panel, which shut slowly.

For a moment they were shooting and then Chaney dove and rolled over the desk, fiercely exchanging a clip as Brick slammed into a wall, eyes blazing, searching. He dropped the long clip in one of the Uzis, slammed in another. His face was red and sweaty, and his eyes flashed as he scanned the room. For a long time they heard nothing and then there was the faintest rustling sound from a connecting hallway.

Chaney turned his head toward it, knew Brick would watch the rest of the room. It had been five years since they were in the field together, but it was like yesterday. Without words, each knew what to do. Chaney raised a hard aim on the corner, waited, and tried to slow his racing heart. He knew what separated him from his prey—plaster, two-by-fours, more plaster. Not enough to stop a supersonic 9-mm hardball round.

He fired ten rounds through the wall, moving in a quick pattern, then moved his sight alignment again to the corner, ready for an attack. Then there was a stagger, a groan, and the clattering of an M-16 hitting the floor. He saw a form fall, a blood splash erupting across white tiles.

Brick looked up. "You getting help off the psychic hotline? Good shot!"

Chaney grinned mirthlessly as he mentally counted his rounds—six left in the clip, a full clip with fifteen, and two left in the emergency reload. He decided to stay with the six rounds, moved from behind the desk with Brick moving back-to-back, staying tight.

"Just like the old days, Brick," he said. "Same routine."

"Two by two on doors without any crossovers and don't get fancy on me," Brick rumbled, holding the Uzis at chest level. His dark eyes, quick and wide open, read everything.

Chaney had the impression that the old man hadn't lost that much after all. And in ten minutes they were near the door of the silent laboratory. Chaney swung the Sig left to right as they entered quickly, in more than a hot-enough mood to kill another one. But there was nothing; the laboratory was deserted.

"Don't relax," Brick rasped, scanning the mezzanine that ran the length of the facility. "Just keep looking like you know they're here. Which they are."

Chaney crouched beside a computer base. He was out of breath and tried to calm down. "The guys ..." He swallowed, took another breath. "The guys up at the front, they weren't wearing mikes that I could see."

"They weren't," Brick confirmed, turning to look behind them. "Don't mean they ain't got friends."

"So ... how do you want to do this?"

"This is where she's supposed to be?"

"Yeah."

A pause.

"All right," Brick began, "we'll do it by the numbers. Room by room. Stick to the routine."

"Real methodical."

"Slow and careful."

Chaney sniffed and thumbed back the hammer of the Sig. "Okay, I know this place so follow my lead," he said as he rose and walked slowly forward, watching everything. Brick was close and turning, looking behind, above, reflexes sharp and poised. And in five minutes they forced open the door of the lead-shielded electron microscope room to find
...nothing.

Chaney's sweat-streaked face twisted in frustration.

"They had to have gotten to her before we did," he whispered. "They already did her. Carried her off."

Brick, bent like he'd heard something, was silent. "Did you hear that?" he whispered.

Chaney paused, listening.

"No," he replied softly. "What was it?"

Shaking his head, Brick continued to stare. Then he moved slowly for the door, one Uzi at shoulder level, the other low. He did a slow scan, inch by inch, of the room. "I don't know," he said. "Sounded like ... something hitting something."

Chaney walked into the room, moving ahead of the bigger man. Caution was good, but he was losing patience and quickly nearing the point where he was going to start kicking in doors to find some answers.

The pain and the violence and the medication had given him an edge of indifferent recklessness. If they wanted to leap out right now and begin firing, it was fine with him. He would give as good as he got.

Chaney jerked his head

"There." Brick raised the aim of the Uzi and together they were moving toward a wall of yellowish white refrigerator doors. There were about twenty separate doors that fit neatly into the wall, the panels flush with the plaster. Chaney stood a long time, and this time he heard it.

Together they targeted on the door and Chaney moved behind it, Brick taking aim with both Uzis. Then—on a practiced count of three— Chaney ripped it open and Brick tensed dramatically. The Uzis dropped to his waist as he leaped forward.

Even as Chaney turned the door, Brick was hauling Gina Gilbert from the refrigerator and ripping off the plastic bag wrapped around her head. Her hands were tied to her feet. Chaney didn't even check her condition as he ripped out a knife and slashed the ropes.

Her face was white and tinged with blue. Then she made a choking, guttural, frightened moan, half raising a hand like someone returning from the dead. She rolled over, inhaling deeply, wrapping arms about her chest.

Brick grunted, "Get her a blanket!"

They managed to warm her quickly—Chaney knew it wasn't the best medical treatment, but they were in a tactical situation—and she slowly regained the power of speech. She weakly acknowledged Chaney and Brick, and asked, stuttering, "They
... they t-t-tried t-to kill me. The men ..."

"It's all right." Chaney nodded.

She seemed to notice the heavy smell of gunpowder permeating both of them. Confusion was in her face.

"We had it out with them in the lobby," Chaney said evenly. He shook his head. "You don't have to worry about them."

Revealing no remorse at their deaths—understandable—she said, "We'd better get out of here."

"Wait a second," Brick asked, a hand on her shoulder. "How many did you see?"

"F-five."

Chaney raised his eyes at Brick.

"That leaves one," the big man said.

"We gotta get her out of here, Brick," Chaney said as he dropped the six-round clip and loaded a full fifteen-round mag. The big man nodded with a frown.

"Can you walk, Gina?" Chaney asked as he lifted her, but she fell limp.

He picked her up in his arms, holding the Sig in his left hand. He looked at Brick cautiously. "You know that you're gonna have to spot him and take him, don't you?" he said.

With a quick nod Brick turned and went to the door. He stepped out, came back. "Okay, it's clear to the hall. We'll do it in sections."

Section by section they carried her through the building, moving for the exit nearest the car. Chaney had thought of taking the closest exit but that would have meant going around the building, exposed and without cover or concealment. Better to take a chance in the hallways and office rooms where they could quickly find cover.

They reached the main lobby, second-guessing that the last hitter wouldn't expect them to leave through the scene of their earlier firefight. Chaney glanced over the long lobby, mostly open floor, and blew out a hard breath; there was no way to do this safely.

With a coordinated glance at Brick, they opened the door and began the only act left to them: they started walking slowly across the open space. Every two steps they turned, moving in circles; slow, cautious, open-eyed movements. Chaney had the Sig leveled at the waist, holding the girl. Brick had two fresh sixty-round clips in the Uzis.

Cautious, slow ...

Gina screamed.

Chaney didn't even think. He spun in the direction she was looking at. Everything in a micro-second coordinated in his mind, his body moving three to four moves ahead: Throw her out as you spin and get the Sig from under her legs, take one step to the left, protect her with your body and fire fast to rattle him. Then acquisition and open up with everything you've got—

Everything erupted.

Chaney fired while Gina was still in the air.

Brick had already opened up, tearing up a counter on the far wall. Chaney hadn't heard a shot from the hitter but he had felt the whip of a bullet passing by his ear. Something in Chaney s mind told him silencer. When Brick roared and went back something changed in Chaney's mind.