Thrilled to Death

by James Byron Huggins

  Hamilton already had the manual available and handed it graciously to Chaney. Then he sat with utter composure in the larger chair. “You may read it now, if you like,” he continued. “Of course you can’t make notes or take a copy with you. Even I cannot remove an operations manual from the facility. But you can take all the time you need.”

  Chaney perused it, noticing that a substantial amount of personnel and equipment were dedicated to advanced sonic measurement of tectonic plates. He also saw that each research station had the same SOP, or Special Operational Procedures.

  “Why do these facilities all have the same SOP?” he asked, attempting to appear casually confused. “Seems like one could do the job of all six.”

  “No, no,” Hamilton stressed. “It would appear that way, yes, but that is not the case.” He retrieved a series of charts from a nearby table. “You see, each station is situated over the edge of a particular tectonic plate. Each plate, over a hundred miles in width, floats over what is known as the athenosphere, or the partially molten substance that moves the plates from time to time.”

  Chaney was amazed at how fluidly and persuasively the scientist expounded. He was clearly believable, which told Chaney something more: if the scientist was lying, he was a very dangerous man. He waited until Hamilton completed his lesson in geophysics.

  “I see,” Chaney nodded. “Then why do you think there have been so many casualties over the past two weeks? Surely this kind of information isn’t worth an incident. In fact, our adversaries are probably doing the same to us. Monitoring our activities, I mean.”

  “Oh, I can assure you that they are,” Hamilton said, and Chaney noticed that the scientist was remarkably fit for his age. Although he must have been in his sixties, his face was smooth, almost unwrinkled, and had remarkable color and tone. In fact, Chaney didn’t know if he’d ever seen someone of Hamilton’s age in such remarkably good physical condition. Even seated, the man had obvious strength and athleticism. He listened patiently as Hamilton described the “nefarious” attempts of our enemies to use satellite surveillance on the facilities.

  “Yes, I’m sure these attempts are ... nefarious,” Chaney responded. “But that doesn’t explain why people are dying, Doctor. I’ve got a body count of a hundred. Now, surely you have some idea why we have this level of ... of carnage.”

  Hamilton shook his head. “No, Marshal, I am afraid that I do not. I only know that I have done what I know to do. I have approved a special team, some of which you are already aware of, to investigate this matter.” He rose, strolling chin in hand. “I am a scientist, Marshal. Not an investigator, such as yourself. So I can assure you, you are speaking with the wrong person. Oh, I understand nature, as well as nature allows itself to be understood. But that type of knowledge is no assistance in a mystery such as this. In fact, it would be a hindrance more than anything else.”

  “Why is that, Doctor?”

  Hamilton raised his eyes. “Because, Marshal, what I deal with, more than anything else, are mysteries. But mysteries that we will likely never solve.” He shook his head, bemused. “Even with something as elementary as geophysics, I consider myself an ignorant man, Marshal, despite all my degrees. Long ago, I gave up being frustrated by the profound mysteries of the universe or even trying to explain them. And if I know so little of my own field, imagine how useless to you I would be in yours.”

  Chaney wondered for a split second if the good doctor hadn’t subconsciously given something away. In a heartbeat he intuited that he might gain more by asking about things not directly related to the investigation.

  “Doctor,” he began casually, attempting to disarm with charm, “you’re obviously a learned man. You could probably explain anything you put your mind to as well as anyone alive.”

  “Oh, not at all.” Hamilton turned solidly, and Chaney was again impressed with the man’s muscularity. “I am confident that I can explain many things, Marshal Chaney. But the more one answers, the more mysteries one perceives. I could speak for semesters on quantum theory, for instance. Or the force that holds opposing elements together. Or, perhaps, speculate on the origin of thought, or the soul, or life.” He stopped in place, smiling. “But that isn’t why you came to see me, is it?”

  Chaney realized: Mistake.

  “No,” he said. “I want to know what you think is killing your people. Or why.”

  “And in that, unfortunately, I cannot help you.”

  “Well, Doctor,” Chaney sat straighter, “something is for sure killing them. So you might as well give me some ideas.”

  Hamilton leaned forward. “I can tell you what I have been told,” he began. “This...murderer, whatever it is, has literally decimated three of my research facilities. One other remains. But if that installation is destroyed, then the entire program will be terminated. Apparently, this...this thing ... is strong. Extremely fast. Highly intelligent. And I, for one, believe that it may well be an unknown species. Something we have not been aware of. That is why we’ve gone to extreme measures in hunting it down.”

  Chaney stared. “Thing?”

  “Why, yes.” Hamilton’s brow hardened. He seemed shocked. Or suspicious. “I ... ah ... don’t you know details of these atrocities, Marshal? The accounts of this things inhuman cunning? It’s almost unbelievable display of fantastic brute strength?”

  “Well, I know that whatever killed your people fought its way through many soldiers at each site, Doctor. But it didn’t completely defeat the video surveillance, some of which was recorded at covert sites in Washington. And I believe Washington, specifically the Senate Intelligence Subcommittee, is where this plan to find the creature originated.”

  “Yes.” Hamilton nodded. “We were attempting to deal with the situation internally, of course. But when we were called for conference, we agreed that a highly skilled team was probably the best means of resolving the situation. Obviously, our own efforts had been demonstrably insufficient. In fact, I am on record as saying I had no objections at all to the idea, as long as the National Security Agency could retain full authority and command.”

  “But the hunting team wasn’t your idea?”

  “Not originally, no. However, I had no objections.”

  “Nor was it the idea of anyone inside the Agency?”

  “Well, I have no knowledge of that.”

  “I see.” Chaney paused. “And that’s when the army and marines got involved? Is that correct? That’s when someone from the Pentagon, this Agent Dixon, was assigned to assemble this team?”

  “Well”—Hamilton cleared his throat—”there was always a military contingent present at the sites, but only for security. But, yes, they became involved in the more intimate aspects of the situation when this special unit was formed to, ah, destroy this creature.”

  Chaney carefully analyzed what he had heard. “Tell me, Doctor. I mean, you’re a scientist. You know a great deal about biology. What would you make of this creature?”

  “Well, Marshal, I would ask you the same thing. After all, you are the one investigating the situation. What do you yourself think of such a creature?”

  “What do I think?” Chaney opened his eyes a bit wider with the frankness he felt no desire to conceal. “I would think that he or she, or it, could be classified as a monster, Doctor.”

  “Yes.” Hamilton smiled, suddenly more distant. His ice-blue eyes chilled. “Of course.”

  The silence was unusual, and Chaney decided to take a different tack. He had already, despite Brick’s gold-plated advice, gone over the line.

  Now Hamilton knew that he was actually interested and, even worse, serious. He’d decide later how much to tell Brick about his misstep. It probably wouldn’t be much.

  “Tell me about this team you’ve organized,” he said. “Surely they asked you for input when they designed it.”

  “Well, my primary suggestion, which
I demurely presented, was to include someone of substantial scientific acumen present as an adviser. That, to me, seemed indispensable. The man selected was Dr. Angus Tipler, a scholar of unchallenged genius. I did not participate in the selection of the soldiers; I have little knowledge of them. But I understand they are quite adept at this type of search and ... how do they say it in the military?”

  “Search and destroy.”

  “Yes,” Hamilton replied, “a search-and-destroy mission. And we have, oh, some other gentleman who knows something about hunting, or tracking. Something like that. I myself am not so familiar with this last individual. I did not consider him important—not important at all, really. So I only perused his file briefly.”

  Chaney found that more than interesting: Hamilton didn’t consider the addition of Hunter, a millionaire and highly recognized wilderness expert, an important event.

  “This man,” Chaney said, “is Nathaniel Hunter?”

  “Yes, yes, he, uh, I believe he is something of an expert tracker. Somewhat well off financially. Not rich, by any means. But comfortable, and used frequently for finding people lost in wilderness areas. I am not sure that he does much of anything at all except support certain wildlife organizations. So I do not know why he was considered so important. But I have a file here, somewhere, if you would like to peruse it.”

  “Yes,” Chaney said. “I would. But, first, I want an answer to a question that you’ve avoided twice already.”

  “Oh, I am sorry.” Hamilton seemed sincere. “It was certainly an oversight. And to allay your suspicions, should you possess any, please be assured that I am not attempting to be evasive. Quite simply, I have nothing to be evasive about.”

  “I understand.” Chaney smiled blandly. “Do you think that whatever is killing your people could be somehow controlled by competing foreign interests? Particularly former Soviet or Communist enterprises that do basically the same thing as these facilities? Would the information contained at those centers benefit them?”

  Hamilton almost smiled, but it never emerged. “No, Marshal. There is nothing contained within the centers that would merit any kind of foreign attack at all. We monitor tectonic phenomena that have nothing, really, to do with military matters.”

  “Who is in ultimate command of the hunting party?”

  “As I said, the National Security Agency.”

  “I mean, who’s in charge in the field?” Chaney continued.

  “Well, that would be Colonel Maddox from the Pentagon. I have spoken to him on many occasions. He frequently calls me for...well, advice, I would say.”

  “Do you know an Agent Dixon?”

  Not even a pause, as Chaney had expected. “Oh, certainly.” Hamilton glanced to the side, back again. “Agent Dixon, I believe, is attached to the NSA. He is apparently supervising the operation, according to the mandates of the full command and authority parameters.”

  “Where can I find him?” Chaney asked.

  “Well. . .” Hamilton paused a long time. “I believe he must be in Langley. But I am not certain. As I said, I have only spoken with him on two occasions. He is not, other than the fact that he is supervising the situation for the NSA, awfully important to the execution of this team’s activities.”

  Something about this didn’t feel right. Chaney stared for a brief moment, trying to decide how to go into it. “Doctor,” he said finally, “surely you know that whoever is ultimately responsible for the team’s actions should be closely involved in their day-to-day activities.”

  Hamilton was either truly ignorant of military operations or feigning with skill. “I ...well, I suppose so, Marshal. I never served in the military. I suppose that is something you should speak with Agent Dixon about.”

  “I will,” Chaney affirmed, and decided to end this charade. He took a while, wanting to leave on the right note. “All right. That’s enough. Now I’d like to look at this file, if you don’t mind.”

  Hamilton rose also, lifting some folders. “Well, Marshal, I’m afraid I don’t have a file on Agent Dixon.”

  “I’m talking about Hunter, Doctor.”

  “Oh, yes.” Hamilton waved dismissively. “But as I said, I do not believe that he is important.”

  Without words Chaney took the file and opened it, seeing a black-and-white eight-by-ten of a man who had obviously known hardship. Eyes as pure with purpose and opaque with instinct as a panther’s stared out of the photo. His hair was black, shoulder-length, and ragged. The mouth was neither frowning nor smiling, but, rather, set in a stoic line of indifference. It was a countenance that Chaney could easily imagine as threatening, but threatening didn’t seem to fit the broad forehead. No, it was a countenance that seemed to hint more at a quiet command of deep confidence combined with a certainty of extreme ability—as if he knew that he possessed a concentrated purity of will that had been forged with extraordinary and tested skills.

  Chaney had a feeling one more thing would unveil whatever was hidden within all this: he had to find out why this man was so damned unimportant.

  Hunter led them unerringly to the mine, arriving while there was still enough daylight remaining to prepare for the night.

  Chiseled by pickax into the side of a hard bluff, the mine was perfect for the night. Its opening was barely the size of four men standing abreast, and previous owners had closed it with ax-tapered logs that were weathered but still solid and strong despite twenty years weathering. Even better, the logs were buttressed into the side of the hill by steel beams.

  For a forced entry, unless the logs were levered over the top of the beam, the creature would have to smash them asunder with brute force. Not an easy stunt, even for this thing. Ripping a steel door off its hinges was one thing; only two hinges of steel had to be shredded and a lock cracked. Smashing a two-and-a-half-foot-diameter log in half was another thing altogether.

  Kneeling together, as if in prayer, they discussed the situation beside the professor who, remarkably, seemed to be regaining a little strength. Takakura seemed unconvinced. “It will rip the logs from the foundation,” he said plainly.

  “I don’t think so,” Hunter answered. “Those logs won’t shatter easily. And if one does, we’ll be doing whatever we have to do. This won’t be easy for it. And I don’t think it will go head to head with us when it sees that it’s gonna take at least twenty minutes to break down that wall. It knows we can hurt it.”

  Taylor looked at the mine and smiled, shook his head. “That’s a deathtrap, Hunter,” he said. “Anything goes in there tonight, it’ll be in there a long time.”

  Standing, Hunter turned to him. “You have a better idea, Taylor? If you do, I’d like to hear it.”

  He stared hard at the commando, who looked back at the mine again. Then Taylor shook his head and smiled in the way a man smiles when he’s just been told he’s about to die. “No, Hunter,” he said, a black half-laugh. “I’m completely out of ideas.”

  All of them were on their feet and Hunter saw that Tipler had raised himself to an elbow. The old man was listening intently, alert once more. He seemed to have recovered somewhat from his attack. He looked at the mine, studious.

  “All right.” Hunter pointed at an old mining shack, and another. Both of them were still in decent condition; it appeared they’d been abandoned some years earlier. “This is how it has to work.” He looked at the Japanese. “If you have any objections, Commander, feel free to share them.”

  “I have no objections,” Takakura said.

  “Then we do this,” Hunter continued. “But we have to move fast ‘cause we don’t have much time. First we remove a few logs from the entrance, enough to carry in what we need for a fire. Takakura and I can handle that. Taylor, you and Wilkenson search the cabins for a couple of cots, food, fuel, lanterns, anything we can use. Bobbi Jo, you stay here and watch the professor and guard. You’re the only one that can hurt it a
nyway. Does that sound good enough?”

  They nodded.

  “Good. We’ve got an hour and a half until sundown. By then we have to be secure inside the mine.”

  Together they moved.

  It took Hunter and Takakura, working hard, to dislodge the top log. But they were finally forced to lever it over the top of the steel beam that was anchored to the cliff. The second was easier and provided enough room to slide equipment over the top. By then Wilkenson and Taylor had acquired three full lanterns, a half can of kerosene, six blankets and three portable cots.

  There was no food, but a small spring coming from the cliff allowed them to refill canteens. Thirty minutes later they were secure inside and with the use of a lever slowly slid the top log back in place, leaving the faintest sliver of light at the top. It was enough for fresh air, but not enough for the beast to get in.

  The lanterns were lit and positioned, and MREs were opened. They were all ravenous. Even Hunter ate one, unaware of the taste. Ghost was inside with them, and they lit a huge bonfire outside that would easily rumble through the night.

  Now all they had to do was wait.

  They ate in silence until Professor Tipler, propped on a pillow, spoke in a low tone.

  “I believe ... that I know what it is ... that we face,” he said weakly. “If it were not ... for my diminished capacities, I believe I could have told you sooner.”

  Hunter looked at Tipler, at Takakura. The Japanese had stopped in mid-chew and stared at the professor.

  “Finish your meal, please,” Tipler continued. “You are ...exhausted. I want to thank you ... for saving my life. And, afterwards, I will tell you who our enemy truly is.”

  ***

  “I think,” said Tipler, as they finished eating, “that it is time for me to give all of you my thoughts.” He coughed hoarsely. “Yes ... time, I believe, while I still ... have time. And you were right, Nathaniel, in having us barricade ourselves within this cavern.”