Page 81 of Hunter

The man was a disheveled Dr. Kolb, she saw. Apparently, he was trying to get inside—and having little success. Emerson must have tightened security all over the base and ordered doors locked.

What was Kolb doing here? she wondered as she peeked around the corner. Hunter had told her Reid wasn’t capable of carrying out elaborate plans. Maybe the security man was supposed to deliver Hunter to Kolb, and maybe the physician had accidentally gotten locked out of the building. He looked like he was coming unglued, Kathryn thought, as she watched him try several more keys. His fumbling hands dropped them on the grass. Cursing furiously, he went down on his knees and scrabbled frantically until he found them again.

With a groan, he heaved himself up. Squaring his shoulders, he attacked the lock again, still muttering to himself. It seemed to Kathryn that he was taking half the night to accomplish a relatively simple task—if the ring he’d brought held the right key.

Finally, he let out a growl of satisfaction, pulled open the door, and stepped inside.

The hinges were cushioned by air cylinders. Praying that she wouldn’t be too late, Kathryn sprinted forward and caught the edge of the metal just in time to give her fingers a sharp pinch. Repressing a gasp of pain, she pushed her shoulder through the opening in time to see Kolb scurrying down a hallway.

If he glanced over his shoulder, he’d spot her. But he appeared too preoccupied to check his surroundings. She mouthed a little prayer of thanks when she realized he was heading away from the room with the tanks. At least she wouldn’t have to see that awful sight again.

About thirty paces down the hall, he stopped and stepped through a door. As silently as she could, she crept forward. Pausing to listen, she heard muffled voices. When she cautiously stuck her head around the corner, she found she was staring into a vestibule that led to three more doorways. Kolb had stepped through the one on the right.

In his hand was a gun, pointed at a man whose face she couldn’t see. But she could tell he was standing in front of a bank of computers and wearing a white lab coat.

Afraid to approach any closer, Kathryn strained her ears as she tried to figure out what was going on. The man in the lab coat wasn’t tall enough to be Swinton. When he turned to face Kolb, she saw with a little jolt that it was the research director’s assistant, Roger Anderson, the man who had let her look at the videotapes of Hunter.

Anderson drew himself up to his full five feet eight inches. “What’s the meaning of this intrusion?” he growled. “You’re not supposed to be in this building unless you have direct orders.”

“I’m not going to let you and Swinton go any further with this,” the doctor said, his voice quavering, the gun shaking in his hand.

“Any further with what?” Anderson demanded.

“With your experiments from hell.”

“Then we’re on the same side,” Anderson said in an even tone. “I’ve been trying to stop Dr. Swinton ever since he began growing human cells in a petri dish.”

“It will be a cold day in hell before I believe that,” Kolb said, moving farther into the room so that Kathryn had a better view of the interior of the lab.

Chapter Thirteen

Hunter was slumped in a chair, his elbows resting on a narrow table in front of him and his head cradled in his hands. From the tension in his arms and body, she judged that he was in considerable pain.

Kolb and Anderson were too absorbed in their little drama to look at him—or to be aware that she was on the scene. But as she stood in the shadows beyond the doorway, Hunter slowly raised his head. As if some sixth sense told him she was behind the doctor, he raised his face and stared in her direction. When his gaze focused on her, his face contorted into an expression of such anguish that she had to press her fist against her mouth to keep from crying out. Then a pleading look came into his eyes.

“Go away,” he mouthed.

She gave a small but emphatic shake of her head.

He kept his gaze on her for several more heartbeats. But it was clear that keeping his head up was too much of a struggle. With a grimace, he dropped his face back into his hands.

It was almost impossible to contain her anger as she took in his appalling condition. He had been through so much. Now what torture had they devised for him? Her own hands clenched into tight fists. It was all she could do to stop herself from rushing to his side, kneeling beside him, finding out what was wrong. But she forced herself to stay where she was. All she’d accomplish by going to him would be to get them both caught.

In desperation, she glanced around the anteroom, looking for some sort of weapon. A long metal pole leaned against the wall. Not even sure of how she could use it, she began to move across the room.

“At first I thought you were on my side,” Kolb was saying. “Like Fenton when he was chief of security. He had the guts to complain to Emerson about this hellhole.”

“Look where it got him,” Anderson growled. “Somebody pushed him off a roof.”

“Probably McCourt.”

Kolb’s voice rose an octave. “I thought after that that you were afraid to speak up, even though you wanted to close down this obscene project. But I kept my eye on you. Finally, I realized you didn’t give a damn about the subjects of the experiment. You were only trying to discredit Swinton so you could take his place. You don’t like playing second fiddle. You want the glory for yourself.”

“That’s right,” Anderson answered mildly. “I hate doing the dirty work of a pompous ass who thinks he has all the answers. I can do a lot more for this project than he ever could—if I just get the chance to prove the flaws in his methods.”

The physician made a noise of disgust.

“If you think cloning human beings is obscene,” Anderson asked in a conversational tone, “why are you part of the jolly little team at Stratford Creek?”

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