Page 66 of Hunter

“What is the explosive power?”

He recited the spec, until Reid stopped him with another question. “What do you think about using a transmitter instead of fuses to blow up the cabin at the end of the pier?” He pointed to a weathered gray house that sat about fifty feet from the shore.

“No problem,” he answered, thinking this was like a test, only he wasn’t sure that Reid knew the answers.

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Kathryn sat with her laptop computer at the dining room table, working on the report Emerson had asked her to write, trying to make it sound as if she and Hunter had focused exclusively on business.

But her mind kept wandering. She wondered where Hunter was. What he was doing. Whether he was thinking about her as much as she was thinking about him. But probably that wouldn’t be good for him, she decided with a pang as she pictured the tortured look on his face two nights ago.

She clenched her fists, trying to wipe away that scene. She had messed up badly. But it was Swinton’s fault, damn him, she told herself. Swinton and his Frankenstein lab. And as she contemplated his research, she couldn’t stop her mind from starting to form a terrible hypothesis—a hypothesis based on what she already knew and what she could guess.

This was a secret DOD research center, and they must have invested millions of dollars in a project to develop clones—and train them for special assignments. Why?

Well, suppose you had a human test subject, she thought. But you didn’t think of him as a man because you’d grown him in a laboratory—so you could send him off on a dangerous mission. Would you care about bringing him home when he finished the job? Or would you figure that you didn’t need him anymore, because you could always produce another one to fit your specifications.

Maybe you didn’t even care if he succeeded in his assignment, because you could always try again with an equally expendable subject.

She almost gagged, then thought of something equally sinister—something that helped confirm her hypothesis. You didn’t have to kill a man to clone him. If you had his cooperation, you could ask him for cell samples. There were lots of guys at Stratford Creek Swinton and Emerson could have used. But they had wanted a particular blend of brains and physique—combined in the person of an ex-athlete and physicist named Ben Lancaster. She’d bet they hadn’t asked him for cell samples. Or maybe they had, and he’d refused. Then they’d been afraid he’d blow the whistle on the project.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going tell her what had happened, because he was dead. And now they had Hunter—to send off on a one-way trip. The whole theory made a kind of awful sense, once you added up all the other factors.

She told herself there was still time to wreck their plans. But how?

Feeling trapped and helpless, she got up and paced restlessly around the house. It had become impossible for her to work on the report, so she wandered back to the bedroom and picked up her pillow with the thumb drive sewn inside. She might as well get it out and read about the pack of criminals who ran this place.

To her relief, the pillow was still stitched the way she’d left it. After ripping the seam, she pulled out the thumb drive and brought it back to the dining room where she inserted it into the USB port.

She had planned to go over the personnel records. Instead, she was drawn back to the biographical information on Ben Lancaster, avidly reading the details of his life and his career. He had been a strong, capable man. Like Hunter, she thought with a pang. So many athletes never went on to achieve anything noteworthy after their early successes. Lancaster was different. He’d been one of the outstanding researchers at the Sandia Lab, and he had traveled widely. Maybe his personality was part of Hunter. Maybe in some unaccountable way, some of his memories had also come through.

But at least they’d picked the right candidate for cloning, she thought with bitter irony. A man with a superb body and an IQ to match. Her thoughts switched easily from Lancaster to Hunter. She had to figure out how to get to him as soon as possible, how to regain his trust, and how to get him out of Stratford Creek. Small stuff, she thought with an edgy laugh.

If she had more specific information on Lancaster, maybe that would help her figure out how to approach Hunter, she thought, knowing she was grasping at straws. But it was better to have some constructive focus for her thoughts than to simply sit and worry.

Perhaps she could get what she wanted from Dr. Kolb. He had proposed a meeting. What if she could use that to her advantage?

She was about to call him when the phone rang, making her jump. Scrambling out of her seat, she answered on the second ring.

A man with a stuffed-up nose said, “Dr. Kelley?”

“Yes?”

“This is Bob Perry calling about Hunter.”

As he started to speak again, she’d thought she recognized the voice that was muffled by the nasal congestion. But she’d never talked to a Bob Perry, as far as she could remember.

“What can I do for you” she asked, waffling between hope and caution.

“There’s been a change in plans. Mr. Emerson wants to know if you would be able to work in a session with Hunter at noontime.”

She tried to hide her burst of elation as she answered, “No problem.”

“He’s on a field exercise at one of the cabins down by the lake. He’ll be having a lunch break in forty minutes. Would that be convenient for you?”

“Of course.”

“The cabin is a little unusual. It’s on the end of a pier that juts out into the water. You should recognize it right away.”

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