Dragon Dreams

by Chris A. Jackson

  "Penningly, too, and he's also vanished. The cops don't know who's telling the truth, so they're trying to bring them both in. Unfortunately, Aleksi can't go to the police." He paused, still unsure exactly how much to tell Lonnie. "Something's happened that I'm not sure I can explain, Lonnie. Remember when Aleksi was out sick for a few days?"

  "Yeah." She looked impatient.

  "Well, she started acting strangely after that. Strange for Aleksi, that is. Then she came to me and said she was having nightmares and hallucinations, and even some physical symptoms. We went to the med center, but they never found anything but a temperature and an elevated white cell count."

  "An infection?"

  "That's what we thought." He paused and took a deep breath. "Then there was this whole blow-up with Penningly and Bob was murdered. Anyone who knew Aleksi knew that she could never do anything like that, but with the recent changes, the hallucinations, I was beginning to wonder."

  "No way." Lonnie's flat tone booked no argument. "Not Aleksi."

  "I agree, but for other reasons than you think." He held up a hand to forestall her argument. "She had nothing to gain and everything to lose by Bob being killed. Derrick Penningly, however, had already stolen research data from her and lied about her asking him to collaborate. If Bob was out of the picture, and Aleksi was framed for his murder, he could step in and fill their shoes."

  "You think he killed Bob over a research project. That's what Aleksi said, and it's just crazy!"

  "Crazy for me to think it, or crazy for him to do it?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Because I think that's exactly the case. The cops found evidence that he stole the data from Aleksi, so I pulled the pin and sent an email to all the powers that be, recommending expulsion."

  "Holy shit!" Lonnie grinned. "Way to kick some ass, Hutch!"

  "Well, that was almost exactly what happened when Derrick confronted me Saturday morning. I swear to you, Lonnie, I thought he was going to punch me."

  "No offense, but I wish he had. You could have had him arrested on the spot."

  "Well, as it turned out, the cops had a warrant for his arrest out later that day when they tried to contact him and he'd vanished. Unfortunately, Aleksi vanished, too, and has the same warrant out on her."

  "I don't get it. Why run from the cops?" Lonnie gave him an utterly puzzled look, and he knew he had to tell her the rest of it.

  "She's…changed, Lonnie." He kept his voice low, even though they were utterly alone. "And I don't just mean psychologically. I mean physically. I actually saw the changes. She's contracted some kind of infection, maybe something retroviral. Some kind of gene-switching or something's going on. She didn't want to go to the hospital or to the police for fear that they'd lock her up and never let her out, and I couldn't make her. She agreed to let me have a medical friend of mine have a look, run some tests, but then there was the whole cop thing, and she vanished."

  Lonnie looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. She swallowed, opened her mouth to say something, and failed.

  "I know it's hard to believe, Lonnie, but we think we know where it came from." He nodded to the plastic-draped corner of the lab. "Bob found human DNA in the pyroclastic cast sample. We thought it was contamination at first, but it was all wrong. There were differences, stop codons where there shouldn't be, fragments that matched perfectly, then others that were vastly different. Like whatever was in that cast was part-human, or…"

  "Changed." Lonnie's voice trembled.

  "Yes. Changed."

  "This is like something out of a bad monster movie, Hutch. You're sure about this?"

  "I'm not sure about anything but the fact that Aleksi is showing physiological changes that must be taking place at the genetic level. I'm not sure it came from that sample, but it's the only thing we could think of."

  "So, you didn't ask me here to take over Aleksi's lab classes for the rest of the semester, did you?"

  "Well, yes, but I need you to help me secure this sample and put it into storage. We can't let anyone else get infected, and I want it available for a full analysis by my biomedical friends. If it is the cause of Aleksi's changes, then we might be able to treat her."

  "Um…okay." Lonnie swallowed hard. "I'm in, but how do we keep from getting infected, too? We don't know the vector. It could be airborne, for all we know."

  "I don't think so." Hutch led her to the draped corner of the lab. "I've worked up close to it and helped her extract some samples for Bob. Nobody else has gotten ill. Normal precautions should be enough to keep us safe. Besides, the first thing we're going to do is encase it in plastic wrap, then we'll get a lift from Quinton and pack it in Ethafoam."

  "Okay."

  She reached for the disposable protective gear and began suiting up. Hutch followed suit, and soon they were garbed in everything they needed to keep themselves safe from infection. He nodded to her, pulled back the translucent plastic drapes and stopped dead.

  The table that had held the Kamchatka specimen was bare.

  "What in the name of…" He looked around the small space, as if a six-foot long slab of plaster could hide somewhere. The bone bed samples were all intact and resting right where they'd been left, but the Kamchatka specimen was gone.

  "This is impossible! I saw it here Friday afternoon!"

  "Who the hell would steal a plaster cast?" Lonnie's question was probably rhetorical, but Hutch's mind was already whirling ahead.

  "Someone who figured out the same thing we did, and didn't want anyone else to get their hands on it."

  Derrick's plan had worked like magic. Once he showed Congressmen Twain the changes that were occurring to him and told him the source, the government had moved with startling speed. Two panel vans, one carrying the Kamchatka sample, and one carrying him with the four heavy-set goons who had stolen it from Aleksi's lab, crossed the Charles River into the labyrinthine streets of Boston. Derrick flexed his hands inside his gloves and smiled. He felt the claws that tipped his fingers, ran his tongue over the elongating teeth, and blinked with his evolving eyes.

  The changes were happening faster now.

  He could feel the power in this new thing he was becoming. The cops, Hutchinson, the nose in the air assholes who had expelled him, wouldn't know what hit them. The government was on his side now.

  The trucks made a half dozen turns, then descended a ramp that led down beneath an old brick building. A security guard checked the first vehicle then tapped in a code that rolled a heavy steel barrier up for them to pass. It boomed closed behind them, and the two vehicles pulled into a parking area populated by half a dozen cars and trucks.

  "All right, Mister Penningly. We're here." One of the meatheads opened the door, and they all got out.

  Armed guards and white-coated technicians wearing rubber gloves and surgical masks emerged from one of the roll-down doors as the specimen was unloaded. As they started to roll it away, Derrick turned to follow.

  "This way, Mister Penningly." The head goon gestured toward another door.

  "What? No way. I go with that specimen." He looked around at the guards and felt a sinking sensation. "I should go with them. I've got experience with this thing!"

  "Don't worry, Mister Penningly." A lab-coated man stepped forward between the guards, older, balding, with a pinched face and glasses. "I'm Dr. Johansen."

  The trolley carrying all the samples vanished behind a stainless-steel door, and Derrick's teeth ground together. "You need my help with that thing."

  "We've got specialists for this type of situation, and you've provided us with more than enough help. Now, if you'd just follow me, I'll show you to your quarters."

  "My what?" He didn't move.

  "We've put aside a place for you to stay with us here, Mister Penningly. It's quite comfortable, and you must be tired and hungry." Johansen smiled a fake smile.

  "I'd rather go back to my own place." He flexed his hands at his sides. They couldn't hold him if he didn't want to stay, though he might make a mess.<
br />
  "You must understand that going home is impossible right now." Dr. Johansen gestured toward the now open door. "The police are still looking for you."

  "Twain said you could make that go away." He still didn't move, glaring at the man in white, then the armed guards. They shied away from his gaze. He could smell their fear.

  "Oh, we will, we will, but you've got to understand, these things take time." Johansen stepped forward, extending a hand. "Once everything's cleared up, and we find a cure for the infection that's causing these symptoms you're experiencing, you'll be free to go. We can't risk you leaving, you understand. If this is infectious, there could be problems."

  "Then you need to find that Rychenkna woman, too."

  "We're looking for her, Derrick." Johansen's smile faltered. "We'll deliver on our promises. You've brought us quite a boon. You'll be compensated for your time quite handsomely."

  Derrick glanced again at the guards. Military. There were too many to kill before they brought those guns to bear on him. He wasn't invulnerable. He nodded to Johansen and started for the door. Guards fell in around him.

  "How long am I going to be stuck here?"

  "We don't know yet, Mister Penningly." They passed a number of doors, all featureless with keypad locks, as Johansen droned on. "Once the primary analysis is complete, we'll have a better idea. We need to do some research before we can treat your condition." After a few corners, Johansen opened a door and waved an arm to usher him through. "Until we reverse this infection, you'll be our guest."

  Prisoner, you mean. He stepped through the door.

  "Niiiice place." The rooms were utterly unlike the rest of the facility; soft light, off-white painted walls with shelves of books, magazines and racks of DVDs, with one whole wall a huge entertainment system, and another a window-like screen that displayed a view startlingly similar to the one from his apartment window. The furnishings, too, were similar to his, with a small kitchen area set off to one side.

  "There are also a bedroom and a lavish bath." Dr. Johansen waved an arm at the two other doors. "I think you'll find everything comfortable. If you need anything at all, just pick up the phone and press zero."

  He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was fully stocked with food and drink, including a bottle of Chardonnay and a variety of beers. He pulled a Sam Adams from the door and cracked it open.

  "You pretty much thought of everything." He raised the bottle in toast and drank.

  "And if you think of anything we haven't, just call."

  "All right." He took another pull of beer and nodded. "I'll sit here like a good boy for now, but I'm not going to be a prisoner." He pointed to the door. "That door's not going to be locked."

  "Only from the inside, Mister Penningly." Johansen waved a hand at the door. "You'll have an escort if you want a tour, but that's only to show you the way. And we will want some samples from you for testing."

  "Oh, I understand, Dr. Johansen, but you've got to understand, too. I'm not your prisoner." He put the bottle down on the counter a little too hard, and the beer foamed up and out the neck. "You can't keep me here against my will."

  "You've got nothing to worry about, Mister Penningly. Just relax and enjoy the accommodations."

  "I will." Derrick picked the beer back up and took a long pull, surveying his surroundings once more with a scrutinizing eye. "Have your kitchen cook me a steak. Rare. I'm hungry."

  Johansen nodded and backed out of the room. "It'll be here in ten minutes." The door clicked closed.

  Derrick sipped his beer and looked around the place, perused the books, magazines, and videos. There was quite a selection. They'll have cameras watching me. He looked around in disdain at his prison. He would have to put on a good show, until he could find a way to get it out of here. He had to convince them that he could help them, that they needed him for more than samples.

  Derrick drained his beer and dropped the bottle into the trash. "Home sweet home for now."

  The cops who had staked out the MCZ in hopes of spotting Aleksi were no help at all until Sergeant Jasper showed up. Tired of listening to them argue with campus police about who had jurisdiction, and who would take the fall for this monumental screw-up, Hutch had finally called Jasper and read him the riot act. Now, at least, there was no arguing, just a lot of ass chewing.

  "So, you just thought you'd watch four guys in white coveralls take a six-foot long box from the lab we have under surveillance? You didn't even think to call the campus police? You didn't think it was a little strange that they were working on a Sunday?"

  "No sir." The senior of the two plain-clothes officers looked uncomfortable. "We did confront them, but it all seemed to be in order. They had a work order, and it looked legit. They said they worked for the Museum, and that the sample was being transferred to storage."

  Hutch had heard that the first time, and immediately called Quinton Neilson; no such orders had been issued. Quinton was even madder than Hutch.

  "They had keys to the building and everything!"

  "That's impossible," one of the campus police put in. There were cops all over the place now, and quite a crowd of onlookers, not to mention crime scene tape strung all around the area. Forensics teams were taking tire prints, finger prints and foot prints from every conceivable surface. "University keys can't be copied."

  Jasper looked at the man as if he was brain damaged. "If you're pulling off a broad-daylight theft, you're not likely to balk at illegally copying a set of keys."

  The Campus Police officer blushed, but kept his mouth wisely closed.

  "I want descriptions of these four men from you two." Jasper pointed at his two officers. "I want times, makes and models of the vehicles, license numbers, and a verbatim account of every word that was said. I also want as good a recollection as you can give me of the work order and any ID's they flashed, as well as the logo on their uniforms, their hair color, clothes, and any distinguishing marks, tattoos, or freaking dental work any of them had. You got me?"

  "Yes sir."

  "And I want to work closely with your department on this, Lieutenant Preece. I'm working a murder investigation; this theft is all yours, but it's probably connected in some way. You have security cameras all over campus. We will need to pull them and look for this van. Maybe we got a picture of our thieves."

  "You got it, Sergeant." The Campus Police lieutenant, at least, was willing to put the jurisdiction issue aside for now. She ordered her subordinate to have the video footage of every camera on campus pulled for all day Sunday.

  Then Jasper turned to Hutch.

  "And from you, Dr. Hutchinson, I need to know why the very specimen that was the only contention between my two missing murder suspects and the victim has been stolen."

  "Why it was stolen is beyond me, Sergeant, but you might ask yourself which of your two suspects has the resources to pull something like this off."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean Aleksi's got no money, no influence, no friends to speak of, and no history of theft. Derrick Penningly's family is rich and influential, and he's already broken into this very lab once when he stole the data from Aleksi's computer."

  "Okay, those are good points, but what would he want with that sample?"

  "No idea." Hutch shrugged. He couldn't very well tell Jasper his suspicions. Any mention of Aleksi's infection or her changes would only earn him a long stay in a mental institution. "Unless it could incriminate him in some way and he wanted to get rid of it."

  "But how could a bunch of old bones incriminate him?" Detective Willis jotted notes continually as they spoke.

  "I have no idea." Hutch realized then that he had to say one more thing that might be important. "But we took samples from the specimen. They were being analyzed in Bob Tomlin's lab."

  "Any bets that there's been a break-in over there, too?" Willis asked, flipping his notebook closed.

  Hutch felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach.

  These
people were pros." Willis examined the blank lab benches, empty drawers, and spotless cabinets.

  "No doubt," Jasper agreed. Even the trash had been emptied. He looked at Dr. Hutchinson; the man was pale and shaky. "You okay, Doctor?"

  "No." Hutchinson looked at him and swallowed hard. "A priceless archeological specimen has been stolen. Years of work, careers, and one of my student's lives have been lost. I'm not okay."

  "Were there any other places that samples were taken?" Jasper asked.

  "Not physical samples, but there are data files on half a dozen computers and the university server as well." The professor shook his head. "I don't get it. Why take Bob's computer? If they were professionals, like you said, they'd have to know the data was backed up."

  "Who else has copies of the data, and where?"

  "Well, I do on my laptop, and Aleksi has it all on hers. We sent the preliminary data to Quinton Neilson, the curator of the MCZ, and used a university file-share system for that."

  "So, the chances that someone could obliterate all of it are pretty slim." Jasper rubbed his jaw and sighed. "Which tells me they didn't expect to get rid of it all, but that they wanted everything you had, and Bob Tomlin's computer was the easiest way to get it."

  "I think you ought to check your backup files, Doctor," Willis suggested

  "Oh, I will."

  Dr. Hutchinson was looking a little better, but Jasper couldn't help but think that he had taken the theft of the samples harder than he had taken Bob Tomlin's murder.

  "Well, we've got another crime scene, so let's get the forensics team up here and get this taped off." He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "Hell of a way to start a Monday."

  32

  Keys clattered into the bowl and Hutch closed the door. The click of the lock gave him a feeling of security that he knew was false. He leaned back against the door as if trying to close out the world with that thin barrier. He didn't even turn the light on. He didn't want to see anything, hear anything, feel anything.