Immortal (30 page)

‘Dammit, Ethan, there’s nothing out here at all until Artesia, and that’s seventy miles away. We’re going to be a long way from any supply line.’

Ethan nodded, looking up toward the horizon. New Mexico was divided into life zones: lower Sonoran, upper Sonoran, transition, Canadian, Hudsonian, and arctic-alpine. Each contained its own
vegetation and terrain, with shrubs and grasses giving way to piñon, juniper woodland, sagebrush and chaparral then ponderosa pine and oaks mixed with conifers, aspen and spruce forests on
the higher ground. And their quarry could be hiding out in any one of those varied terrains.

‘We’ll have to move quickly,’ Ethan agreed. ‘As you just found out, we’re not the only living things out here.’

Ethan had already spotted pronghorn antelope and ring tails. He knew that black bears roamed the higher ground too, formidable creatures not averse to attacking humans if hungry or provoked.
Tarantulas, coral snakes and rattlers infested the deserts wherever one traveled, and could end a life in a flash of fangs.

Ethan scanned the map directly south of their position.

‘There’s the town of Hope, but that’s almost as far. The rest of it’s just wilderness.’ He squinted up at the sun now setting behind the seemingly lifeless hills
and valleys. ‘They must have another vehicle stashed out here, or horses perhaps.’

Lopez nodded.

‘Or they’re really hard core, and intend to stay on foot and take their time getting to wherever they’re going.’

Ethan was about to reply when something caught his eye, a flicker of movement up on one of the valleys, stark against the bright orange sky. He didn’t move, slowly folding the map and
slipping it into his webbing pouch while looking at the ridge above with a fixed gaze. Lopez sensed his sudden tension.

‘You got something?’ she whispered, as motionless now as he was.

‘Something just sky-lined itself up there to the right of us,’ he whispered. He was about to write it off as an animal or bird of some kind when it moved again, the unmistakable
shape of a human head bobbing as it hurried down the hillside.

‘There’s another one,’ Lopez said, nodding across to their left.

Ethan felt a sudden chill as he realized they were in the floor of the valley with the surrounding heights occupied by people unknown.

‘They’re trying to ambush us,’ he said finally. ‘Must have spotted us a while back when the sun was still high enough to illuminate the valley floor.’

‘What are we going to do about it?’ Lopez intoned, looking nervously up at the hills and betraying her city-girl roots. ‘We’re exposed here.’

Ethan reached slowly around and slid his Bergen off, setting it down beside a bush.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘If they were competent enough to launch an ambush, they wouldn’t have revealed themselves so easily. We’ll go and
have a look.’

An instant later, the deafening report of a gunshot thundered down the pass, echoing off the hills around them as they hurled themselves face down onto the ground.

9.22 p.m.

Butch Cutler strode into his hotel room, tossed his key-card onto the bed and gratefully dragged his shoulder holster off. Since he’d been assigned to USAMRIID after
leaving the Rangers he’d always felt somewhat uncomfortable carrying a weapon around in public. Not that he was afraid to use it – just that somehow being armed while surrounded by
civilians just didn’t float his boat. He laid the weapon down on the bed and yanked off his tie before loosening his shirt and looking at himself in the mirror next to the bed. He looked
older now, gray-haired and maybe a little haggard. Once upon a time he’d felt invincible, a soldier in one of the finest combat regiments on earth. Now he just felt weary, a hired hand in
powerful men’s games.

Butch poured himself a well-earned drink, and was about to slump into an easy chair when a knock sounded at his door. Without really thinking about it, Cutler was on his feet with his gun in his
hand, moving silently across to stand to one side of the door with his back to the wall. Never peer through the peep-hole – block the light, and an assassin has only to shoot straight through
the door.

‘Who is it?’

The voice that replied sounded feeble and strained.

‘I’m here on behalf of Colonel Donald Wolfe. My name is Jeb Oppenheimer.’

Cutler frowned uncertainly.

‘He too busy to pick up the phone himself?’

‘He’s not aware that I’m here,’ came the reply. ‘I was hoping that perhaps we could speak privately?’

Cutler thought for a moment, then turned and unlocked the door before snapping it open and pointing his pistol into the wrinkled face of an old man a foot shorter than he was. In an instant,
Cutler caught sight of four heavy-set men standing guard nearby.

‘Don’t worry about them,’ Oppenheimer said, gesturing at them with his cane. ‘They’re here to protect me, not to attack you. Can we speak inside?’

Cutler turned aside as Oppenheimer limped his way into the hotel room, his entourage of four guards following him. Two moved to stand outside Cutler’s room, while the remaining two
followed the old man inside and closed the door behind them.

‘My apologies,’ Oppenheimer said, ‘for the intrusion. There’s no need for your gun – I wished merely to know how the USAMRIID investigation is
proceeding.’

Cutler, his pistol still in his hand, strode across the room and picked up his drink. He cast a glance at the two heavies guarding Oppenheimer, and felt reassured. Both were exuding all the
menace of cartoon characters, standing with straight backs and their hands clasped before them, trying to look tough but failing. Both were young but neither looked military, more like nightclub
bouncers than close-protection specialists. More to the point, standing as they were in the manner of Mafioso henchmen meant that, if they were armed, they wouldn’t reach their weapons in
time to stop Cutler putting a bullet in both their brains. As he had learned long ago, bravado was no match for already having your weapon in your hand.

‘You could have called to find that out,’ Cutler said to Oppenheimer, not putting his gun down. ‘What do you want?’

Oppenheimer leaned on his cane.

‘Your help, Mister Cutler. You are leading the investigation at USAMRIID for Colonel Wolfe, and I believe that I may be able to assist you.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Cutler said, taking a long sip of his drink. ‘We have the situation under control.’

Oppenheimer raised an eyebrow.

‘Is that so?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘And what about Ethan Warner and Nicola Lopez?’

‘What about them?’

‘They are hindering your investigation, are they not?’

Cutler chuckled, and drained his glass before speaking.

‘By now Warner and Lopez will have left the state,’ he said. ‘They’re not a problem.’

Oppenheimer shrugged.

‘If only that were true. However, I have it on good authority that they were last seen traveling out into the desert somewhere south of Glencoe.’

Cutler stared at the old man for a long moment.

‘And how would you know that?’

‘Because I make it my business to know,’ Oppenheimer snapped. ‘And right now, what I know could help us both achieve our aims.’

‘Which are?’ Cutler asked, remaining impassive.

‘The acquiring of certain . . .’ Oppenheimer delicately selected a word, ‘
tissues
that are required for SkinGen to produce a new drug. Tyler Willis, before his
unfortunate death, was working on just such a drug.’

‘Anything that we find will be delivered directly to Colonel Wolfe at Fort Detrick,’ Cutler replied.

Oppenheimer grinned.

‘But if some were to be inadvertently lost,’ he suggested, ‘or left behind?’

Cutler eyed the old man for a long beat of his heart before replying.

‘Such things have happened before, occasionally.’

‘Of course they have,’ Oppenheimer agreed. ‘Human error, environmental issues, sheer bad luck. Of course, you will enjoy a considerable amount of financial good fortune should
such an occurrence take place.’

Cutler set his glass down, his pistol still in his hand.

‘And where might these tissues you refer to be found?’ he asked.

Oppenheimer gestured vaguely about in the air.

‘They might well be located by Warner and Lopez in the near future,’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps if you were there you could ensure that viable specimens are passed on to SkinGen
instead of USAMRIID.’

‘Viable how?’ Cutler asked.

Oppenheimer’s grin turned cold as he leaned forward on his cane.

‘Alive, Mister Cutler. Just one of them, alive.’

Cutler stood immobile for what felt like several minutes, the beating of his heart thumping in his ears.

‘Who?’

‘Let Warner and Lopez guide you,’ Oppenheimer suggested, ‘you’ll know well enough when you find them. I’ll compensate you fully once you’ve returned them
to—’

‘Five hundred thousand dollars,’ Cutler interrupted, ‘
all
in advance, wired to my account by tomorrow morning, or this conversation is over.’

Oppenheimer ground his teeth in his jaw, his gaze turning icy, but he nodded once.

‘As you wish.’

Oppenheimer produced a card and handed it to Cutler. The card bore the details of a SkinGen subsidiary bank account, as though Oppenheimer were used to bribing people and had made cards
specifically for that purpose.

‘Call your bank,’ Oppenheimer said, ‘and clear the transfer with them. One call, Mister Cutler, along with a single live human being, and your work will be done.’

Oppenheimer turned without another word, one of his guards opened the door for him and he left the hotel room. Cutler watched the door close behind them, and stood alone in silence for several
moments, looking down at the card in his hand.

The he turned, and picked up his cell phone.

Ethan hurled himself to one side as a bullet cracked the air beside him, bursting through the fabric of his Bergen. Lopez leapt for cover behind a dense thicket of bushes to
her left as the bullet ricocheted off the stony ground and zipped past her.

‘I thought you said not to worry!’ Lopez shouted.

Ethan rolled sideways into cover, squinting up at the hillside as bits of dust and grit stung his eyes. The sky was darkening swiftly, the glow of the sunset giving way to the deep blue of
evening. He remained silent and still. Against the sky he could see occasional movement, furtive and sporadic. For a moment he couldn’t believe that their attackers could have launched such a
perfect ambush and yet expose themselves so easily at the same time, and then he suddenly understood.

Another shot cracked out, and Ethan spotted a tiny burst of muzzle flame just before it smacked into the earth a few feet behind where he lay. The shot was at least a hundred yards closer than
the figures milling about on the hillside.

‘They circled back on themselves,’ Ethan whispered to Lopez, cursing his complacency for thinking that professional soldiers, no matter how old, would have failed to cover their
retreat. ‘They’re clearing their tail.’

Lopez’s voice whispered back to him.

‘That’ll teach you to respect your elders.’ Ethan shot her a disapproving glance, which she ignored. ‘There’s too many of them.’

‘I don’t think they’re all on the same team,’ Ethan whispered back, looking across to where his Bergen had fallen when the bullet had struck it. ‘We’d better
move before they fall back.’

Ethan belly-crawled across to his Bergen, fumbling inside for a moment until his hand rested on something cold and hard. He pulled the weapon out, checking its mechanism in the darkness before
looking up at the hillside.

‘Is that a pistol?’ Lopez asked in amazement.

The Beretta M9 9mm had been the standard issue sidearm of the Marine Corps in Ethan’s day, and he had liked the weapon despite concerns about its stopping power. Compact, light and easy to
use, Ethan kept one for what he liked to call ‘special occasions’.

‘These aren’t boy scouts we’re following,’ Ethan whispered. ‘I thought it best to come prepared.’

Lopez didn’t argue, although he could sense a certain tension in the air between them as he started up the hillside, dodging from cover to cover. He knew that she was pissed at him both
for not telling her that he’d been carrying and because she would be wanting a piece too.

Another shot burst out, a flash of muzzle flame perhaps sixty yards ahead and twenty higher, illuminating a dense patch of bushes. The shot zipped over Ethan’s head with no more than six
inches to spare, the supersonic shockwave thudding through his eardrums.

‘Jesus,’ Lopez whispered, ‘another one like that and we’re going back down.’

Which is what they wanted, Ethan knew. It was the practice of all troops in the Marine Corps, especially special-forces units like recon, that when faced with an attack by a numerically superior
force you did the last thing they expected you to do. You advanced, and turned a firepower disadvantage into psychological warfare.

Ethan dropped onto one knee to aim at the spot where the last muzzle flash had appeared and fired two quick shots into the darkness.
Two
. Instantly he sprang up, running full tilt for
twenty paces straight up the hillside before dropping down and firing another two shots into the same area.
Four
.

Behind him, he heard Lopez laboring up the hillside in pursuit.

Another rifle shot, from further away this time. The shot went over Ethan’s head, higher than the last. He immediately aimed and fired two more shots directly at where the muzzle flash had
briefly lit the edge of the hillside.
Six
.
Nine rounds remaining
. He leapt up and dashed ten yards forward and a few yards down the hill, dropping down onto one knee again and aiming
at the edge of the hillside. Lopez reached his position and sank down onto her knees, breathing heavily.

‘The hell you doing?’

Ethan didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on the gloomy hills ahead.

‘Trying to make them think there’s more than two of us.’