Read Online Alien Hunter (Flynn Carroll) by Whitley Strieber - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Whitley Strieber
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his cop’s intuition screamed at him: secure your position. You don’t know where that animal is and you don’t know what it is, not really.
Once again, he tried the radio. Once again, there was no response, which was completely unacceptable. When this stakeout was concluded he was going to file a red hot report with whoever was in charge of this outfit, about its leadership and its shitty procedures and its worthless equipment.
Six feet to the left of the front door, the porch ended. Beyond it were lumps along the side of the house that indicated the presence of a flower bed. Behind the house, just visible, he could see the dark bulk of what must be the garage.
Somewhere back there Diana and Charlie and Mike were deployed—unless, of course, their radio silence was unintentional.
He would need to find them, but not right now. There was another thing that had to be done, which was that the Hoffmans needed to be warned and they had to be offered the close protection they should have been given in the first place.
Angrily jabbing the transmit button on his radio, sending out call after unanswered call, he approached the house.
He pushed his fist through one of the small panes of glass midway up the front door. Working fast because he had lost track of the puma, he pulled the remaining shards of glass out of the bottom of the frame, then leaned in, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door.
The alarm sounded its warning buzz, but he didn’t even try to cut it off. He wanted it to trigger. Surely that would bring Diana and Mike and Charlie in on the run—assuming, of course, that they were still alive. But surely— surely— they were. No matter how clever, a mountain lion simply could not slaughter four police officers. Someone was going to get to his gun in time.
The buzz of the alarm rose to a warble. Thirty seconds to go. “Miss Hoffman, Doctor Hoffman, police! Please disarm your system! Police!”
No reaction. They could have retreated to a safe room. They could be waiting there, guns at the ready. Hopefully, they were calling the locals.
His first order of business was to find such any safe room they might be in. It would most likely be in the basement, so where was that door?
He went into the living room. In the big stone fireplace, the fire that had blazed up earlier still sparked and muttered. Beyond this was the music room. With its drapes still closed, it was pitch black. Inside, he could see the darkly gleaming surface of a grand piano, its keyboard a pale grimace.
The alarm triggered, its horn blaring up from under the stairs. Returning to the front hall, he opened the door of the understairs storage, then waited another full minute before disconnecting it. If it was set to make a distress call, he wanted to make sure that happened before he disabled anything. Finally, he pulled out its power line. Silence followed.
“Is anybody here?”
He detected not the slightest sense of movement, not the whisper of a footstep or a breath or the faintest creak of shifting weight from upstairs.
The wind rose in the eaves and snow swept past the windows.
He examined the alarm system’s control box and was horrified to see that the jack socket was empty. It had no phone connection.
Stepping into the hall, he tried his cell phone, but there wasn’t even the hint of a bar. In the kitchen he snatched up the receiver of a wall phone, but there was no dial tone. Lines were down, of course, in weather like this.
If that flash of light had been the perpetrator in some sort of helicopter, no matter how incredible it seemed, the brilliant puma had been part of it, deployed as an assassin and a decoy.
He looked out the kitchen window, across the bleak pale desert of the backyard.
He shifted frequencies on the radio, emergency calling again and again, but nobody came back. Field communicators like these were adjusted to a range of just a couple miles. You didn’t want them being picked up on bad-guy
Once again, he tried the radio. Once again, there was no response, which was completely unacceptable. When this stakeout was concluded he was going to file a red hot report with whoever was in charge of this outfit, about its leadership and its shitty procedures and its worthless equipment.
Six feet to the left of the front door, the porch ended. Beyond it were lumps along the side of the house that indicated the presence of a flower bed. Behind the house, just visible, he could see the dark bulk of what must be the garage.
Somewhere back there Diana and Charlie and Mike were deployed—unless, of course, their radio silence was unintentional.
He would need to find them, but not right now. There was another thing that had to be done, which was that the Hoffmans needed to be warned and they had to be offered the close protection they should have been given in the first place.
Angrily jabbing the transmit button on his radio, sending out call after unanswered call, he approached the house.
He pushed his fist through one of the small panes of glass midway up the front door. Working fast because he had lost track of the puma, he pulled the remaining shards of glass out of the bottom of the frame, then leaned in, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door.
The alarm sounded its warning buzz, but he didn’t even try to cut it off. He wanted it to trigger. Surely that would bring Diana and Mike and Charlie in on the run—assuming, of course, that they were still alive. But surely— surely— they were. No matter how clever, a mountain lion simply could not slaughter four police officers. Someone was going to get to his gun in time.
The buzz of the alarm rose to a warble. Thirty seconds to go. “Miss Hoffman, Doctor Hoffman, police! Please disarm your system! Police!”
No reaction. They could have retreated to a safe room. They could be waiting there, guns at the ready. Hopefully, they were calling the locals.
His first order of business was to find such any safe room they might be in. It would most likely be in the basement, so where was that door?
He went into the living room. In the big stone fireplace, the fire that had blazed up earlier still sparked and muttered. Beyond this was the music room. With its drapes still closed, it was pitch black. Inside, he could see the darkly gleaming surface of a grand piano, its keyboard a pale grimace.
The alarm triggered, its horn blaring up from under the stairs. Returning to the front hall, he opened the door of the understairs storage, then waited another full minute before disconnecting it. If it was set to make a distress call, he wanted to make sure that happened before he disabled anything. Finally, he pulled out its power line. Silence followed.
“Is anybody here?”
He detected not the slightest sense of movement, not the whisper of a footstep or a breath or the faintest creak of shifting weight from upstairs.
The wind rose in the eaves and snow swept past the windows.
He examined the alarm system’s control box and was horrified to see that the jack socket was empty. It had no phone connection.
Stepping into the hall, he tried his cell phone, but there wasn’t even the hint of a bar. In the kitchen he snatched up the receiver of a wall phone, but there was no dial tone. Lines were down, of course, in weather like this.
If that flash of light had been the perpetrator in some sort of helicopter, no matter how incredible it seemed, the brilliant puma had been part of it, deployed as an assassin and a decoy.
He looked out the kitchen window, across the bleak pale desert of the backyard.
He shifted frequencies on the radio, emergency calling again and again, but nobody came back. Field communicators like these were adjusted to a range of just a couple miles. You didn’t want them being picked up on bad-guy
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