Robert Walker - Extreme Instinct

He knew she would come. Satan had assured him that she must, and he was right. Feydor had seen the approaching helicopter. She must be aboard.

He needed one more victim. The Tolliver woman was easy. He'd flattered her in her little gift shop downstairs, bought her a box of chocolates, and had shown up at her room. He'd used the syringe on her, and while she battled, bruising him in the bargain, he'd managed to subdue her and let the drugs do the rest. Then he did her as he'd done the others.

Time was fleeting now, however, and he had no victim in mind, nothing prepared. Still, he had his tools in hand. He just needed to be smart about this thing.

He wandered the hallways, going from floor to floor, looking at room numbers, trying doors to see if anyone had foolishly left one unlocked, keeping his eyes and ears alert, watching anyone who happened in or out of a room, up or down a stairwell or corridor. He began stalking for his next victim, number eight is number two, the lustful.

He needed a soul to send to that special rung of Hades reserved for those whose minds and hearts were filled with only lust. But it was late, everyone in their beds asleep, silent. Whom might he find to fill in?

''Return to the fire,'' Satan said inside his head.

"Coran is here. It's not time yet to face her. You said so."

"There, staring into the fire, you will find those who lust."

It appeared the only way. "Of course, the fire."

Feydor expected to hear Dr. Stuart Wetherbine next, objecting to this final step, but Wetherbine kept silent. Wetherbine had remained silent for a long time now. Perhaps he'd been silenced by Satan.

Dorphmann knew now he must return to the seventh fire, where people would be milling about, gawking. Somewhere in the crowd, he'd find the one whose eyes shimmered with a lustful glow, the sinner he looked for. He'd have to be careful, however. Coran and others there would be searching all the faces, too, searching for him.

Jessica had instantly gotten on the radio to inform Sam Fronval of the danger overtaking his lodge. Fronval shouted back, "We know we've got a fire! We've got help on the way."

"It's got to be him, Sam! The coincidence is too much."

"We found no one at the fire but the woman who died in it, Jessica, but he did leave a message for you."

"Let me guess: Number seven is number three-gluttonous."

"Jesus, Joseph, and Jessica! How'd you know that? Never mind, I don't want to know," said Fronval. "Victim was Lorraine Tolliver, big woman who worked in the gift shop and lived at the lodge, room four twenty-two."

"If he's true to form, Sam, he's seeking out another victim as we speak."

"Why didn't you bring more men with you, Jessica? We can't cover the entire lodge. There are more than six hundred rooms in use here. And each wing of the lodge goes off in another direction, like the spokes of a wheel. There's the original lodge and the add-ons."

"If he doesn't kill again tonight, he'll kill again tomorrow night." Jessica then told Rideout, "Get me down there."

"Gonna scare the shit out of Henry if we set down too close to the lodge," complained Rideout, the chopper pilot.

Jessica frowned and asked, "Henry? Who's Henry?"

"An old buffalo who doesn't roam with the herd anymore, but hangs about the lodge. He's been there for years, but he's unpredictable. I don't want him charging my bird."

"Get me in as close as you can, then, without setting us down on a hot spring."

Rideout did so, and Jessica said, "Get back up in the air, and radio us if you see any other fire than the one we already know about."

"Will do, and good luck, Dr. Coran, or should I call you The Sanitizer?'' he joked.

"Thanks," she called back over the noise of the rotors. "Now get back up in the air."

Jessica was guided to the location of the fire by a ranger sent to the helicopter in order to take her directly to Samuel Fronval. Fronval stood in the hallway, smoke haloing him, as he tried in vain to disperse the crowd of curious onlookers who were in the way. Jessica pushed through the crowd, looking all about for any sign of Feydor Dorphmann, knowing full well that he'd been in similar crowds earlier, watching her every movement.

She saw a small man somewhat resembling Dorphmann, and she pointed the man out to Fronval, who immediately had his rangers grab the man in pajamas, whose shock soon translated into swear words.

Others in the crowd, seeing the detention of one of their own, and being asked by rangers in hats and carrying guns if they'd seen or heard anything unusual, began to disperse. Questioning a crowd, Jessica knew from experience, was the quickest way to break one up.

Jessica looked in on the fire room, saw the ugly message left by Dorphmann, saw the ugly remains on the bed. Firefighters were still squelching small eruptions in the room. She backed out, her face blackened from smoke. Exhausted, she leaned against the log wall, Fronval telling her he was sorry to have to see her under such conditions but welcoming her to Yellowstone just the same.

She looked into his clear, blue-ice eyes, and saw the same man in there, but outwardly he'd aged a great deal, his hair now a snowy white, his face a road map of wrinkles, every one of them no doubt earned.

"Yeah, it's good to see you again, too, Sam."

"I'm due to retire in a few months," he told her. "Damned ugly thing that's happened here on my watch."

"I'm sorry, Sam, truly I am."

"Read about what happened in Salt Lake."

She glanced down the long, narrow corridor to see a thin, emaciated man carrying a black case. The man seemed bent on following someone, his step in tune with a woman ahead of him.

"My God, it's him. It's Dorphmann, there," she said, pointing.

"Where?" asked Fronval, staring past the little man she pointed at.

"There!" She raised her gun and shouted for people to drop to the floor, and anyone remaining in the hall did so. But Dorphmann was gone. She raced, stepping over people as she did so, for the spot where he'd been.

"Are you sure of what you saw?" asked Fronval, catching up to her.

They stood at a juncture in the hallway where four separate wings spread out in four directions, any one of which Dorphmann could have stepped down. "Any doors, maids' closets along these corridors?" Jessica stared down each section of the maze.

"This way," Fronval suggested, going to a maids' closet, but it was locked.

"No way he could've ducked in here."

Out of the side of her left eye, Jessica saw a flitting shadow appear and disappear in the opposite corridor wing. "There he goes!" she shouted and gave chase, her gun raised.

Fronval stayed close behind. He knew the complicated labyrinth of the many-sided, many-added-on hotel, which had stood here since the early 1900s, a place where President Theodore Roosevelt had slept. "All the corridors eventually will lead back to the main hall," Fronval assured her from behind. "He's got to be making for an exit somewhere."

''The only other exits are where?''

"At the ends of each corridor, but there is one door midway."

"For all we know he's booked a room himself under an assumed name. He may simply have ducked into his room."

"We'll do a door-to-door search of this corridor on this floor," suggested Fronval. "It'll have to do."

A door between two sections of the hotel ahead of them creaked closed. "There!" Jessica shouted, racing after, leaving Fronval catching his breath.

Jessica, out ahead, spied a shadow racing off down the hallway on the other side of the door, still hustling with a black case in his grip. It had to be Feydor Dorphmann. She was so close that she might get a shot off if she gambled, but stopping to aim could cost her. She could again lose sight of him.

She took the gamble, stopped, and leveled the gun as the disappearing shadow turned a corner and was gone. "Damn! Damn!"