Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [94]
‘Did I?’ Renshaw asked. ‘Are you kidding? You bet I saw it. Hell, I got it all on tape. I mean, yikes, did you see those big bastards? Did you see the way they hunted. Did you see the complexity of their hunting behaviour? Like the way they would always make a pass by their intended victim before they came in for the kill?’
‘I must have missed that,’ Schofield said flatly.
‘I tell you, they did it. Every time. Every single time. I’ve read about it before. You know what I think it is? It’s the whale staking his claim. It’s the whale telling all the other whales that this person is his kill. Hey, I could show it to you if you –’
‘You said there was something else I should see,’ Schofield said. ‘Something about the man who shot me.’
‘Oh, yeah, right. Right. Sorry.’ Schofield just stared at Renshaw as the little man grabbed a video cassette and thrust it into the second video recorder. He was a strange man. Manic, nervous, and yet obviously very intelligent. And he talked a lot. It seemed that when he spoke, it all just came gushing out. Schofield found it difficult to determine exactly how old he was. He could have been anything from twenty-nine to forty.
‘That’s it!’ Renshaw exclaimed suddenly.
‘What? What’s it?’ Schofield said.
‘Yaeger. Carmine Yaeger. That was his name.’
‘Play the video, would you,’ Schofield said, exasperated.
‘Oh, yeah, right,’ Renshaw hurriedly hit the ‘PLAY’ button on the VCR.
An image came up on the second monitor. It was almost identical to the one that was on the first monitor, from the same high-mounted camera looking down on the pool and its surrounding deck.
There was only one difference.
On the second monitor’s screen, someone was standing on the deck.
Schofield stared at the screen intently.
The person on the screen was a man, one of the Marines. He was alone.
Schofield couldn’t tell who it was because the camera was positioned directly above him. All he could see was the top of the man’s helmet and his armoured shoulderplates.
And then suddenly the man looked up, slowly scanning the shaft of the station, and Schofield saw his face.
Schofield frowned.
He was looking at his own face.
Schofield turned immediately to Renshaw. ‘When did you record this –’
‘Just keep watching.’
Schofield turned back to the screen.
He saw himself stop next to the pool and speak into his helmet mike. There was no sound, he could just see his own mouth moving. He stopped talking, and took a step across the deck.
And then he stopped.
He had stepped on something.
Schofield saw himself bend down and examine some broken glass on the deck. He seemed to look about himself. And then suddenly, his head cocked to the side. He was listening to something. Listening to someone speaking over his helmet intercom.
The Shane Schofield on the screen then stood up and was starting to turn when suddenly his whole body jolted violently and a small spray of blood exploded out from his neck. He stopped instantly, and swayed slightly, and then he raised his hand to his neck and held it out in front of his face. It had blood all over it.
And then his knees buckled and he fell in a heap to the deck. He just lay there on the deck, motionless.
Schofield stared at his own image on the screen.
He had just seen himself get shot . . .
Schofield turned to Renshaw.
Renshaw just nodded back at the screen. ‘There’s more,’ he said quietly. ‘A lot more.’
Schofield swung back to face the screen.
He saw his own body lying on the pool deck, unmoving. It lay there for a while.
Nothing happened.
And then suddenly someone stepped into the frame.
Schofield felt his adrenalin rush as he watched the screen. He was about to see the person who had shot him.
The first thing he saw was the helmet.
It was another Marine.
A man. Schofield could tell by the way he walked. But he couldn’t see his face.
The Marine walked slowly over to Schofield’s unmoving body. He was in no hurry. He pulled his automatic pistol from his holster as he approached Schofield’s body, pulled back