Alien Hunter (Flynn Carroll)

by Whitley Strieber

  He kept her shooting until she appeared to be comfortable with her PPK. “Who issued this gun to you?”

  “I bought it at Wal Mart.”

  “It’s an okay choice. Just remember exactly how many bullets you have. Count as you shoot. Know, always, whether or not you’ve got one in the firing chamber. This is absolutely critical, because it is going to take you more than a second to fire if you don’t. In an exchange of gunfire, close range, that extra half second is a lifetime—yours.”

  She looked like she wanted to cry. As they returned to the nameless little cluster of franchises and gas stations, sunset was a dull red streak on the western horizon. Ahead, the black outline of the motel was now dotted with fitful lights. Flynn felt a familiar sadness rolling over him, the great, tragic surge of the human sea, and now, also, the greater sea of intelligent life of which mankind was only a part.

  They got takeout at the Jack in the Box, then checked in to the Holiday Inn Express.

  He tossed his backpack on the bed, then put the Best Buy bag down more carefully and pulled the computers out. He ate a chicken sandwich while he checked out one of the laptops.

  “It works,” he said. He followed the instructions on the desk and was soon online with it. “I’ve got webcams in my house. I’ll just go on my website and click through them all. Then I’m going to surf YouTube looking for video of Siberian tigers.”

  “If they know what they’re doing, you’ll get noticed for certain.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “I don’t quite get this. We’re giving ourselves away.”

  “We want them to come to us in a place of our choosing. We’ll be standing off, watching from a distance. When they show up and don’t find us, they’ll leave. Then we’ll be where we need to be—behind them. We’ll start calling some shots.”

  Once online, he stared into his own living room, dark and still. For him, home was the center of his heart, and his loneliness. He did their bedroom, then the kitchen. Finally, steeling himself, he moved to the Abby Room—and just sat there staring, for the moment too astonished to talk. When he found his voice again, he said, “The Abby Room’s been torn apart.”

  She came beside him and looked at the image. “My God.”

  The walls had great gouges ripped in them, the furniture had been broken apart, the couch torn to pieces, all the photographs scattered. He felt kind of sick, looking at the violence of it.

  “Can you rewind?”

  He hit the reverse button, and the image began to flicker back. “I’ve got it set on thirty-second intervals, so it’s choppy. It goes back forty-eight hours.”

  Twenty-one hours ago, there were blurred frames indicating movement. He clicked forward.

  In the center of the room, there was a figure. The body was blurred almost to invisibility, but you could see that it was a man.

  “It’s posed, you know. On purpose. You’re intended to see this.”

  The man ripped down maps, tore up pictures. His fury was extraordinary.

  He killed his browser. He couldn’t bear to see more. “That’s the perp,” he said. He tried to fight down the sick horror, but he could not. He choked back his emotions. “Goddamnit. Sorry.”

  “Everybody in this cries.”

  “Okay, fine. Siberian tigers. They can’t be imported, so the ones presently in the country are the only ones available.” He reopened his browser, being careful not to bring up his home security system again. “There is no national database of stolen property. The individual police departments each keep their own records.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Look for break-ins at zoos and animal shelters that house these animals. The fact of the break-in will be recorded in the National Crime Information Center Database. Although, I don’t have a password.”

  “Not a problem.” Her fingers flew. “We have a master access program. It can basically break into any password protected system there is. One with as many different passwords as this one has is gonna be a piece of cake.”

  He saw numbers flickering across the database’s access point. “Okay—one, two, three—”

  The entry was allowed.

  “That’s impressive.”

  “Give me something hard. The Federal Reserve’s master password. Want a billion dollars? I could wire it into your account within fifteen minutes.”

  “That might be a tad difficult to explain.” As much grief as was in her own heart, he was grateful that she was trying to lighten his mood.

  She worked through the data. “Here’s an animal shelter in Austin, Texas, that was broken into last month. It’s reported as a case of vandalism. Chimpanzees were shot. You gotta ask why people do crap like that. And another one. Santa Barbara, California. A lion was killed with a high-powered rifle.”

  “Nope, if we’re on the right track at all, it’s gonna be Austin.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “They have one of the worst burglary clearance records in the country. A criminal this smart is going to factor that in.”

  “They logged the chimps as animal cruelty. There are pictures. Ugly. So nothing stolen.”

  “Maybe and maybe not. Let me take a look.” He read aloud, “‘Fencing was breached in a large holding area that contained a Siberian tiger called Snow Mountain.’”

  “It doesn’t say the tiger is missing.”

  “Say you’re a cop. You investigate a break-in at an animal preserve. Of all the animals that are left unharmed, you mention only one in your report. Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I. But I do know that Texas is full of wealthy ranchers who love to stock their places with exotic wildlife. Texas being Texas, maybe you know that the tiger has been illegally taken by such a rancher or sold to one, and you know exactly who did all this—took the tiger and vandalized the facility as a cover—and because of who it is, you have no desire to pursue this individual.”

  “Is it worth a trip, then?”

  “You follow the leads you have.”

  “I thought we were going to wait here. Try to induce a confrontation. I mean, by now they almost certainly know where we are. I mean, if they have the skill to watch for relevant searches.”

  “I didn’t expect such a good lead. I think we need to run after it.”

  They were close enough to St. Louis to reach the airport in a couple of hours.

  They didn’t check out. Why leave behind any more information than you had to? What was the hotel going to do, send a bill?

  They were south of the storm now, and the winter sky was vivid with stars. Cars passed now and again, not many though. People were getting their dinner, life was winding down for the night.

  He watched the road behind them, but one set of headlights looks much like another, and distances are hard to gauge at night.

  “What do you think will happen in Austin?” Diana asked.

  “What will happen in Austin is the unexpected.”

  “If the tiger is gone?”

  “Then we’re close. The case starts giving up some gold.”

  “Will they catch us this time?”

  He thought about that. “If they don’t, it’ll be a miracle.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Using one of the throwaway cell phones, Diana had made some calls to airlines and determined that the next flight to Austin wasn’t until five forty-five in the morning, so Flynn pulled into a Homewood Suites he happened to see near the St. Louis airport.

  Once again, they checked in with cash. There was a stack of USA Todays on the counter, and he took one. He planned to look at the weather forecast. Big weather had a tendency to loop down over the country’s midsection. If they were going to run into the storm again in Texas, he wanted to know that.

  He went into the bedroom, tossed the paper on the bed, and turned on the TV. “Will it bother you?”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  He could feel a more intense electricity between them. She wan
ted to take another step, he could feel that. He said, “Outside of Menard, there’s an area called the Staked Plain. When I was a boy, I used to ride there, and in the summer of my twelfth year a girl rode with me. Abby.” He did not add that they had danced together naked in the grass.

  “I’m here,” Diana said.

  His body went to her and his lips kissed hers, and then his heart kissed her. She was small in his grasp, surprisingly so for someone who occupied so much space in his life. They took their pleasure together then, two people who were tired and confused and afraid, but for this moment were able to find something like shelter in one another.

  Then it was over, a memory flying back into the past. They lay side by side in silence. Flynn felt gratitude. He wanted to thank her, but that seemed like another form of rejection. Abby haunted him.

  Diana slipped quickly away into sleep. She was soon snoring softly. Flynn envied her the ability she had to drop off like that. For him, night was a prison. He dreaded the feeling of vulnerability that sleep brought. Since the incident, his doctor had explained to him that he was suffering from something called guarded sleep, which means that at some level, you’re always awake.

  He turned on the TV. For a while, he surfed, watching the Weather Channel, then CNN, then a Judge Judy rerun. Hitler strutted on the Military Channel. On Nick at Night, crazed cartoon figures cavorted.

  His nakedness began to make him feel exposed and he put his clothes back on. Cradling his gun, he returned to the living room of the small suite.

  For a time, he meditated. His gun lay in front of him, so he also closed his eyes. A few minutes vacation from it would be okay.

  Abby whispered his name.

  He gave up meditating and went into the bedroom and got the paper, which was lying on the floor beside the bed.

  Back in the living room, he turned the pages, looking for the national weather. As he flipped through it, his eyes rested for a moment on the word “tiger.”

  He read the brief story, then stopped, too shocked for a moment to move.

  He went into the bedroom, shook Diana and said, “Forget Texas, we’re going to Vegas.”

  Diana stirred but didn’t wake up.

  “Look at this,” he said, holding the paper out, then rattling it.

  She moaned.

  “Wake up, Diana, this is important.”

  She sighed, stretched, then started to turn over and go back to sleep.

  “No, you need to see this.”

  “What?”

  “A tiger is on the loose in a casino in Las Vegas.”

  For a moment she was absolutely still. Then she sat up. She grabbed the paper and read. “A coincidence?”

  “This was yesterday. They’d lost us. My guess is that this is bait.”

  “It doesn’t say anything about it being a Siberian.”

  “It’s not a coincidence.”

  “If you say so.”

  “We need to catch the first flight out.”

  “Flynn, I can understand investigating the place that lost the tiger. But the casino makes no sense. If it’s a coincidence, we’re wasting our time. If it’s not, they’ll be waiting for us.”

  “I see a break in the case. Among other things, casinos are loaded with cameras. Think if we got the perp identified. Think of that.”

  “It’s a trap, Flynn.”

  “Of course it is, that’s the whole point. But we know that. We understand.”

  They left the hotel and went on to Lambert, driving through the post-midnight world, past glowing fast-food restaurants and dark, silent strip malls.

  “Once I watched a rat get cheese out of a trap,” he said.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “If you’re a smart rat it’s not. What he did was push the trap along the floor with his nose until it sprung. Then he ate the cheese. We need to approach this the same way, exploiting the unexpected vulnerability.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s unexpected, so I don’t know. Yet.”

  The earliest Vegas flight left just after six, so they spent a few more hours in the next hotel, letting the night wear slowly into predawn. There was no trouble with tickets, and the plane wasn’t crowded.

  After taking off, it turned into the dark western sky. Flynn looked at Diana beside him. Was she capable? No.

  Better question: was he?

  Same answer.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They pulled around the gigantic lion that guards the MGM Grand’s porte cochere and got into the valet parking line. Nobody cared, of course, not about a couple of dismal little tourists in a rented Camry. Which was good. A noticeable detective is a bad detective.

  He hadn’t walked into this building in five years. As he approached the gleaming doors, the old itch came back. He fought it off. You don’t start, that’s how you control an addiction.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Find the tiger.”

  “If it’s still here.”

  “It’s gonna be a major production for them to get it out of the building. Security is all over the place, not to mention the press. This place is loaded with cameras, believe me. If security hasn’t spotted the tiger being taken out, then odds are that it’s still here.”

  “He could’ve used the helicopter to take it off the roof.”

  He thought about that. Then he said, “Possibly, but he still has to get it up there. Somewhere, some camera will have seen that.”

  This was the Grand, where the Skylofts had private butlers. How much would it take to convince his butler to help him get the tiger out? A couple hundred bucks would probably do it. Still, could a butler control the cameras?

  They passed the huge golden lion in the lobby, heading for Skyloft check-in. They’d booked one, too, top floor.

  He could hear the casino and smell the casino. From here, he couldn’t see the blackjack tables, but he could imagine the dealers standing behind them, waiting. He’d known a couple of those guys. They loved to see players burn, but they loved even more to see them win. Big wins meant big tips.

  He slid the door back and entered the exclusive Skyloft check-in area.

  “Reservation for James Carroll.”

  “Yes, Mr. Carroll! Just a mo—.”

  The receptionist’s smile turned to plaster.

  “Get ready for company,” Flynn told Diana as the door behind them slid open and a howitzer shell in a black suit came in.

  “Excuse me,” the shell said, his steel cranium gleaming.

  “We’re here on official business,” Flynn responded. “No gambling.”

  “Please come with me, Mr. Carroll. And you, too, Miss Glass.”

  He looked at her in astonishment. “You’re booked, too?”

  She did not reply.

  As they headed toward security, the officer asked, “Are you two a team now?”

  “Not really,” Diana said.

  He led them into a familiar space, scuffed beige walls, no windows, a steel desk and a couple of wooden chairs. Not the sort of room you expect to see in the Grand. It was even more stark than the service areas and the maze of access tunnels that Flynn knew ran under the huge complex.

  He thought he might recognize the security chief, but it was a new, short, stocky bullet-headed bald guy. The new howitzer shell said, “Diana Glass. Welcome back. Leaving, I presume?” He looked at Flynn. “And who’re you supposed to be, Mr. Carroll, Hecuba’s sidekick?”

  “I’m a police officer,” Flynn said. He pulled out his badge. “Texas.”

  “Doesn’t make a shit here, Mr. Carroll, this is Nevada. The message remains the same. Get out.”

  “Look—”

  “I’m lookin’ at a lot of losses between the two of you, now get off the premises or I’ll have to turn you over to some real cops, which will not amuse you.”

  Unless there was a criminal charge, in cases like this the Vegas cops basically just yelled at you. It wasn’t against the law to win money from the ca
sinos. It was just annoying to them.

  “You have a tiger in here and I know this, and I know how to find it and get it out of the resort.”

  He heard Diana suck in her breath.

  “Your help isn’t needed,” the security chief said. “We’ve got eyes on every camera in the structure.”

  “Why haven’t you evacuated?”

  “Because we don’t think some eccentric high roller is gonna unleash his pet on the guests. We just want him quietly to leave. Like you.”

  “What hasn’t been on the news is why you can’t find it, which I know you can’t. Or why we can. That hasn’t been on the news, either.” He flipped his badge wallet closed. “We’re not here to gamble.”

  The security chief came closer to him. Flynn noted that he had a complete set of choppers. Not good with his fists, then.

  “Wait here,” Choppers said. He left the room.

  Flynn looked up at the camera and waved his fingers. “He’s gone to get the general manager.”

  “I really didn’t want to come here.”

  “Are you booked all over town, or just here?”

  “Look, in a previous life I built illegal software, okay?”

  “For the casinos?”

  “Against the casinos.”

  “All I did was count cards.”

  “They don’t like that, either.”

  “They do not.”

  He looked at her with new eyes. From casino hacker to government super spy. “You’ve had an interesting career.”

  She smiled a tight smile. “It has been interesting.”

  The general manager came in. He was not smiling. “I’m told you won’t leave.”

  “We’re not here to gamble. We’re here to help you with your tiger problem.”

  “We don’t have a tiger problem.”

  “You have a half-empty casino is what you have. Because of the bad publicity regarding said tiger. That’s a tiger problem.”

  The guy was young, no more than five years older than Flynn, but he had the dead eyes of somebody who’d worked tables too long. Under the flinty, hostile surface was a deeper level of what Flynn sensed was real nastiness. So he had to be beaten about the head and shoulders a little. Not a problem. He said, “Okay, fine, we’re gonna leave. But we’re also going to let the press know that you refused our help.”