Ken Goddard - Prey

"Looks like a real freak, doesn't he?" Larry Paxton commented appraisingly.

"Yeah. Now all we need is a name," Lightstone said as he looked around. "Hey, where's Mike? He should have gotten the scoop on their credentials by now."

"Right here," Mike Takahara said as he came into the small conference room.

"Well?"

"Negative," the Japanese-American agent shook his head. "The two Caucasian males were carrying Federal Protective Service badges and credentials, but there's no record of their ever being issued to anybody."

"Federal Protective Service?" Lightstone blinked. "Shit, these people don't need any protection."

"Hey, I'm just relaying the message," Takahara shrugged. "Security people at the airport confirmed the IDs."

"They could have been faked."

"Yeah, maybe, but that'd be rough to do," the Japanese- American agent said. "They'd have to get a hold of that new Treasury paper, which is real easy to confirm under a crossed-polar light."

"Did those security guys at the airport check?"

"They said they did."

"But if these guys had legitimate federal credentials, then somebody with authority had to sign them," Paxton said.

Takahara shrugged his muscular shoulders. "No way you can expect anybody to remember three days later what a scrawled signature looked like, especially when he sees dozens of those things every day."

"Shit," Lightstone cursed.

"Come on, guys, there's got to be a link here," Mike Takahara said insistently. "What is it that we know for sure? That we got shut down on an investigation and then scattered all over the country. And now a bunch of assholes are trying to hunt us down, and the Chareaux brothers are involved somehow, only maybe these guys have had a falling out, because we also know that Alex killed at least two of them."

"And we know for sure that these guys here went after Paul," Lightstone said, nodding at the photos, "and that Butch Chareaux was killed in the process."

"Paul shoot him? Takahara asked.

"It looked that way at the scene," Lightstone shrugged, "but who the hell knows?"

"And then I got a call from that female informant," Stoner offered.

"Just like Carl did," Lightstone reminded.

"Yeah, and then the little broad lures me into this barn, where Sonny and some karate asshole try to bust my knee," Stoner finished.

"Only Sonny ends up getting killed, which would sure as hell piss Alex off if he knew about it," Mike Takahara added.

"Which he obviously didn't, or he wouldn't have walked away when he had you hanging there," Lightstone said. "And which also means that he probably didn't know about Butch, either."

"Maybe he isn't after you guys at all," Ed Rhodes suggested. "Like you said, he had Mike right there. No reason to walk away."

"Well, if he isn't after us, then who the hell is?" Lightstone demanded.

"I don't know, man, but every time we try to figure this thing out, I keep coming back to that hunt you went on with Alex and Butch," Paxton said. "That and the fact that everywhere we look, some Oriental guy is popping up into the picture."

"You mean those three idiots with the hundred-thousand- dollar guns?"

"One of whom you described as Japanese," Paxton reminded.

"Whoever's been doing this had enough influence with the Department of Interior to get us reassigned," Lightstone nodded. "And they had to have some connection with the Chareaux brothers if they were willing to spend that much money to pop them loose."

"Three hunters, filthy rich, lots of influence, who think that they're about to get in serious trouble with the law," Paxton smiled.

"Or maybe worse, worried that they might get embarrassed?" Lightstone suggested.

"How could we possibly embarrass them if we don't even know who they are?" Stoner asked.

"Henry could ID them, they know that," Paxton reminded.

"Yeah, and I know somebody who could help me find them," Lightstone said with a slight smile.

"Alex," Stoner whispered in a soft voice.

"Jesus Christ! Paul was right," Lightstone said quietly. "We tripped over something big, and the Chareaux brothers were involved."

"And it's big enough to make it worth sending a bunch of multinational commandos out after us. The Chareaux brothers were supposed to be left behind to throw everybody off," Paxton said.

"Except that one of their commandos was dumb enough to give Alex a knife, and now he's on the loose, too," Mike Takahara added.

"Tell you what," Paxton said, looking at the picture of Gerd Maas. "I think we better find those three hunters of yours before this white-haired bastard finds us."

"Or A1 Grynard," Lightstone reminded as he looked around the room. "Anybody have any ideas?"

"You're looking for three wolves in sheep's clothing," Ed Rhodes said to no one in particular. "How the hell are you going to find them?"

Henry Lightstone sat motionless as an image exploded in his mind. "Guns," he rasped as he turned to Ed Rhodes, his eyes blazing with intensity.

"What?"

"Who knows about guns around here?"

"Uh, Gary. He's our firearms examiner."

"I want to talk to him, now."

Thursday September 23rd

At precisely sixteen minutes after midnight that Thursday morning, the phone in the firearms examination area of the National Fish and Wildlife Forensics Laboratory in Ashland, Oregon, rang loudly.

Ed Rhodes picked it up on the first ring.

"Forensics Laboratory, Rhodes."

And then: "Yes, sir. He's right here," Rhodes said as he handed the phone over to Lightstone.

"Hello?"

"Special Agent Lightstone?"

"Yes."

"This is Nigel Hooper from Holland and Holland. I understand that you've been inquiring about one of our rifles?"

"Yes, sir. A double-barreled African Hunter, chambered for the. 416 Rigby cartridge. We're trying to find out the name of the individual who purchased the weapon."

"Do you happen to know when he might have made his purchase?"

"No, I don't."

"Perhaps a serial number, then?"

"Uh, no, sir, " Lightstone said, speaking loudly over an annoying hiss in the telephone line. "All I have is a description of the etching on the receiver, and the fact that the weapon was sold to an American."

"I see. Well, perhaps we could start with the etching," Nigel Hooper said politely. "That might help narrow things down a bit."

"The etching is of a single wolf standing on a rock."

"Umm, I'm afraid that's a rather common design request," Nigel Hooper said. "Is there anything else about the etching that might be distinctive?"

"I'm afraid that I'm doing this from memory," Lightstone said, recalling in his hallucinatory dream how the first point of light had become a slowly rotating disk and then the face of a dog that really wasn't a dog after all.

"I see. Are you certain that the creature is a wolf?"

"I assume it is," Lightstone said. "That's what was etched in script just below the rock. W-O-L-F-E."

"Oh, really?"

"Would you have any idea of how many rifles Holland and Holland might have made with that particular etching?"

"Yes, I think I can tell you exactly how many," Nigel Hooper said. "But first, perhaps I should explain that while we Brits may use the English language a bit, uh, differently than you Yanks, we still spell wolf 'W-O-L-F.'"

Henry Lightstone sat in absolute silence as he listened to Nigel Hooper explain the background of a certain. 416 Holland and Holland African Hunter with the picture of a wolf etched into its receiver.

"Yes, you've been a wonderful help, Mr. Hooper. Thank you very much," Lightstone said as he hung up the phone and turned to the four haggard individuals who had been hanging on every word.

"Dr. Reston Wolfe," Lightstone said with a tired smile. "Special executive assistant, U.S. Department of Interior, Washington, D.C."