Point of Impact by Stephen Hunter

Author:Stephen Hunter [Hunter, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Thriller
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 1993-02-17T05:00:00+00:00

Bob stopped to pull on the padlock of a door marked ENGINEERING ONLY. Magically, the lock popped open.

They stepped into a little closet. There was a grating on the floor and Bob bent to open it; beneath, Nick could see a metal ladder.

“That’s our ticket out, Pork. Get your ass and a half down there and then go to prone, on your belly, legs and arms spread. You make a stupid move, I’ll have to dump your bones here. Sad for a big boy like you to have to die over a dead dog.”

Nick struggled down with the dog’s corpse; he could sense Bob above him, the yawning bore of the .45 always locked onto him. The man carried the gun lightly, easily, as if he’d been born with it.

At the bottom Nick looked up, and there was Bob, the gun on him. Obediently he went to the floor as Bob clambered down, pulling the grate shut after him.

“This way, now,” he said.

Nick had to admit it; yes, he was impressed. Bob knew the layout of the place cold; he’d left the woman up front to call the cops because he wanted lots of commotion and chaos; he figured he could get out. But he couldn’t make it with the dog, so he’d had to wait until a strong enough man showed up who could carry Mike while he, Bob, negotiated the obstacles.

Recon, remembered Nick. A good sniper always recons the area before he operates. He never goes in blind. He knows where everything is, he plans escape routes, evasion maneuvers, always has a plan.

At the end of the narrow tunnel they came to another ladder; this time Bob went up first, back against the rungs, the gun on Nick. Nick followed, covered the whole way, and had trouble lugging the dog’s body up the ladder, but Bob didn’t help him a bit. Finally, grunting heavily, he was up.

“Damn dog is heavy,” he said.

“You ought to try humping a seventy-pound pack in the boonies in a-hundred-twenty-degree weather, Pork,” said Bob. “Now shut up. This part might be tricky.”

They were in another closet, close in the dark. Outside it, they could hear motion, the staticky crackle of a radio, the low murmuring of serious men.

“Hold on to that dog,” whispered Bob.

Then he pressed open the door. They were in some sort of garage a good seventy yards from the main health complex building. Outside, Nick saw three state police cars set up to form a perimeter around the building. Cops were crouched behind their wheel wells, aiming shotguns or scoped rifles. But Bob and Nick were outside the perimeter.

“Now, we go out here, we walk, we don’t run, about a hundred yards, to where you see a generating shack. Around back, there’s a red pickup. That’s where we’re going. You make any sudden moves, son, and you know what’s waiting for you.”

“Yeah,” said Nick.

“So let’s do it.”

They walked out into the bright sunlight and didn’t look back. The damn dog was getting even heavier.

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