He fell hard on the stairs, stunned for an instant, and she was on him, one hand crumpling the muzzle of his gun, the other cocked back, ready to rip him open, tear flesh from bone…
No!
Aleksi forced the dragon within her back down where it belonged. The predator had saved her, but she was not a killer. No…I'm a protector. The urge to fight the predators, to preserve the lives of the innocent people down the tunnel, had slammed into her like a train. That was her purpose.
Aleksi shortened the arc of her blow and buried her claws in his Kevlar vest, lifting him off the stairs, her bared teeth an inch from his nose. A growl unlike anything she had ever heard came from her throat, guttural and feral. She felt such a gut-clenching desire to kill him, to stab her talons into his throat and tear…but she wouldn't. She was better than Derrick Penningly.
Aleksi dropped him and grasped his weapon in both hands. Plastic fractured and metal bent before his wide, terrified eyes.
"Tell Derrick that if he hurts a single person I care about, if any of you do, I'll hunt you down and slaughter you all."
She glanced at the others, but they weren't moving. One might be dead, but she didn't think so; she hoped not. Aleksi dropped the man's mangled gun and dashed toward the Green Line turnstiles, pulling her cap low and hunching her shoulders. Onlookers were staring at her, backing out of her way. One held a cell phone up. Ignoring them, she swiped her travel pass, walked through the turnstile, and boarded her train.
She was halfway home before she realized she was bleeding.
38
The mangled weapon clattered to the table. Johansen looked at it in both disappointment and awe. Military weapons were made to take punishment. This one looked like a Rottweiler's chew toy. The metal frame was bent, and the impact resistant plastic grips were shattered.
"She took my team apart," the tactical officer said. Johansen didn't know his name, but he didn't need to. He also didn't like the tone of the man's voice. There was fear in it.
"I can see that, Captain." He lifted the ruined weapon in his hands and turned it over. "Anyone killed?"
"No. One serious concussion, a broken arm, and a gunshot wound."
"A gunshot wound?"
"Friendly fire. She…threw one of my men at another as he was firing. Two rounds hit his vest, and one lodged in his hip. He'll be fine."
"And the man who was unhurt." He put the weapon down. "I'd like to debrief him."
"Of course."
"He's not to leave this facility until I say so. None of them are."
"They're all covert ops rated, Doctor." The captain said it like that trumped Johansen's order.
"They better be, Captain, otherwise they wouldn't have been assigned to this project. None of them is to leave the facility until I give the okay. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Doctor." The man's tone said that he didn't like being ordered around by someone not in the military arm of the department, but Johansen didn't care. He was in charge.
"Good." He glared at the weapon, then back at the captain. "I want options, Captain. Ones that do not include video of your men shooting up a subway station ending up on YouTube. Do you understand?"
"We've got people on that, Doctor. Nothing's going to leak."
"Good." He wished he could say the same about the other incident he had to deal with tonight. The team assigned to Derrick Penningly, or what was left of it, was due to arrive in seconds. One man dead, and Penningly on the loose. How things could possibly get worse, he didn't know.
"Take care of this, Captain, I need options. I'd like to bring Rychenkna in alive, if possible." He looked again at the mangled weapon. "Someone who could do this would be a valuable asset." Johansen needed an asset before this entire project blew up in his face.
In the end, they hadn't needed an ambulance. One look at the bleeding, and six cops had lifted Marty into the back of a police cruiser. With lights and siren, they had arrived at Cambridge Hospital Emergency in less than five minutes. A call ahead had a stretcher waiting at the curb, and a team of scrub-clad doctors and nurses whisked Marty into a treatment room, then straight into surgery. They had controlled the bleeding, but the ER doc had said they needed a vascular surgeon to repair the torn artery.
Jasper and a dozen cops were crowding the waiting room. Someone had brought him a clean shirt and jacket, and he'd cleaned up in the washroom. It had taken him almost a half an hour to get Marty's blood from under his fingernails. Someone else had brought coffee and a stack of Dunkin' Donuts boxes high enough to feed the entire precinct. Jasper didn't feel much like eating, and his hands were still shaking too badly to hold a cup of coffee when his boss walked through the door.
"Christ, Jasper." Commander Fisk looked at him like he was still covered in his partner's blood. "What the hell happened? The duty clerk said Willis had his throat torn out by some kind of animal and you shot up the parking lot."
"Not exactly like that, but close enough." Jasper braced his shoulders and clenched his hands. He knew there would be a formal report, many of them, but this first impression would be the most critical, and he'd been thinking about what he saw, or thought he saw, for over an hour. "Derrick Penningly attacked Marty with some kind of claw thing. Fucker was hiding in the shadows. He's completely nuts, sir. He had some kind of mask or makeup on." It could have been makeup…must have been.
"A mask? How'd you know it was Penningly if he was wearing a mask?"
"It didn't cover his whole face, just his eyes, some kind of contact lenses. The rest was more like makeup or some kind of paint. I've been looking at his picture a lot, sir. Marty said it was him, too, before he passed out."
"We'll get Willis' statement later." The commander reached for the coffee and filled a cup. "So, did you hit him?"
"I fired three rounds. It was dark, and I was more worried about Marty than hitting anything. I don't know if I got him, but I was firing over the top of the car, so if I did, it would have been in the head. Since he's not lying in the parking lot with a bullet in his brain, I guess I missed."
"Too bad." Fisk sipped his coffee, eyed the donuts, tapped his bulging stomach, and refrained. "Forensics is all over the parking lot, so we'll find out where your rounds went. You're sure only three?"
"Sure, sir." He unholstered his Glock and pulled the clip, then jacked the chambered round into his hand. "Twelve left."
"Fine." Fisk put up a hand at Jaspers offer to hand over the weapon and magazine. "Keep it. They'll want to match it with what they find, so don't clean it or anything."
"Sure." He pocketed the round and the magazine, and holstered the gun.
"Good." Fisk glanced sidelong at Charles, who sat on one of the couches, surrounded by supportive vice cops. "How's Marty?"
"In surgery. They said he's serious but stable. If he doesn't throw a blood clot to his brain, he should be okay."
"Christ, Jasper. How the hell did a perp get close enough to lay him open like that?"
"It was dark, sir, and he was fast."
"Good thing he was stupid, too, bringing a knife to a gunfight." He caved and took a powdered jelly donut. "You still want the warrant out on the Rychenkna woman?"
"Not a murder charge, since it's pretty clear who our killer is now, but I'd still like to know why she ran. I say keep the APB and bring her in."
"If we can find her. She's all over the city by her ATM transactions, and her phone is quiet as a grave. She's not stupid."
"She ran, sir. That's stupid. I'll find her." Jasper realized that he still had one lead that might just pay off. Besides himself and Marty Willis, one other person had seen Derrick Penningly recently.
"Do that." Fisk took a huge bite of his donut and chewed, closing his eyes in bliss. After he swallowed, he glared at the donut as if it had committed a crime and dropped the rest in the trash. "Goddamn coffin nails." He wiped the powdered sugar from his face and took a swig of coffee. "I'd like your report in the morning, Jasper, and hand your piece over to for
ensics for analysis. We'll do the shooting interview then, too."
"Yes, sir."
Fisk glanced again at Charles then looked back to Jasper. "You need to talk to one of the department crisis management shrinks?"
"Not yet, sir." Jasper knew exactly who he needed to talk to.
Hutch jerked out of a sound sleep, unsure at first what had woken him. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, then he remembered that he'd sacked out on the couch; his bed was still in shreds. Then the phone rang again, the cheap prepaid phone that Aleksi had given him. He reached for it and swiped the screen, noticing as he did that it was one AM. Not good.
"Aleksi? What's wrong?"
"I need some help, Hutch." She sounded shaky. "Someone tried to kill me."
He was off the couch and reaching for his pants before she finished speaking. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"Congressman Twain gave my number to some very determined people. They came after me." She paused, then said, "I've got a bullet in my shoulder, Hutch. I can't get it out by myself."
"Christ, Aleksi!" Hutch's mind stumbled; he didn't know what to do. "I'm not a surgeon, but…"
"I was thinking about Dr. Bornstein. Do you think he'd make a house call?"
"I can ask." He thought about his friend and frowned. He'd been skeptical about the blood sample they'd given him, suspecting he was the target of some kind of prank, but then he'd gone silent. Hutch didn't know if Jim believed him or not, but he'd certainly believe if he saw Aleksi with his own eyes.
"Where?"
"I don't think here would be a good idea. The cops are watching me like a pack of wolves." His mind raced. "Can you walk?"
"I'm fine, Hutch. I just need to get patched up."
"Let me call you back in ten minutes. I'll try to set something up."
"Thanks Hutch."
The line clicked dead before he could say what he wanted to say. Shot? Holy shit! And some kind of government connection… He pushed those thoughts aside and dialed Lonnie. It rang half a dozen times before it went to voicemail.
"Lonnie, it's Hutch. Call me back on this number. It's an emergency."
He hung up and dialed Jim Bornstein's pager number. He knew he'd answer that if he tagged '911' on the end of his number. Before he could put the phone back in his pocket and find his shirt, his other cell phone rang.
"Damn it, Lonnie, I said to call me on the other—" But when he picked it up, the number and name were not Lonnie's, but Sergeant Jasper's. He thought about answering—He might know something about what happened to Aleksi—but let voicemail take it. He had a shirt and shoes on when his prepaid phone rang. It was Lonnie.
"Lonnie, its Hutch. I need a favor."
"Jeez, Hutch, it's the middle of the night. I hate calls in the middle of the night! What's wrong?" She sounded sleepy and pissed.
"Aleksi's been shot, and we can't take her to the hospital. I was thinking the Comparative Zoology lab, but I don't have a key."
"Shot? Holy shit!" At least she sounded more awake now. "Now?"
"As soon as you can get there. And pull a tray of autoclaved dissection tools down from the supplies. I don't know where they keep anything."
"Um…yeah. Sure. Give me fifteen minutes. Let's use the third-floor bio lab instead."
"Thanks, Lonnie." His phone beeped with an incoming call. "Gotta go. See you there." He pressed talk to take the incoming call. "Jim? It's Hutch."
"This better not be some kind of joke, Hutch." Bornstein sounded wide awake and angry.
"No joke, Jim. There's an emergency, and you're the only physician I can call."
"What is it?"
"A bullet wound, and I thought you would appreciate the chance to see where that blood sample came from."
There was a long silence.
"Jim?"
"If this is some kind of prank, I'll have your balls on a plate, Hutch."
"No prank. You have my word."
"Where is she?"
"We're going to use the third-floor bio lab on main campus. You remember where it is?"
"I remember. Give me half an hour."
"Thanks, Jim, and please, be discreet."
"Right." He hung up without another word.
Hutch dialed Aleksi's number and wondered if he could get out of the building without being followed by the police.
Clawed fingers probed the wound, picking pieces of fractured bone from the slowly reforming flesh. This predator he was transforming into seemed to heal quickly. That didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.
Derrick flicked a piece of bone away and held a rag to the wound. "Heal…" He pulled the rag away and fingered the burning track Jasper's shot had left. "Fucking cops."
Derrick licked the blood from his fingers and thrust his hand back in his glove. The cold didn't bother him, but even though he hunkered in the shadows, a passerby might see his claws. He hung back and watched the parade of meat walking past, a hollowness gnawing at his gut. Hunger… Dreams, memories of meat and bone shearing between his teeth, made his mouth water. This dragon needed food.
He couldn't go back to Dr. Johansen now, not after killing one of his minders, and his apartment was being watched. With nowhere to go, no shelter, and no food, he stayed in the shadows, face down.
Hungry…
A scraggly figure shambled up to him, a gloved hand extended. "Buck for a coffee brother? Freezin' out here."
The man reeked of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. Derrick opened his mouth to tell the disgusting bum to get lost, but hunger twisted his gut, and he thought again. He glanced left and right, but foot traffic was sparse, and this spot between a massive pile of filthy snow and a dumpster offered enough privacy.
"Sure, man." He reached into his coat and slipped off his glove.
This close, the man had no defense. Claws pierced flesh. Sticky warmth covered his fingers as he squeezed, crushing fragile cartilage, severing the man's last strangled gasp. Gloved hands batted uselessly at his iron grip, but only briefly. Derrick leaned in close, watching the light of life fade from the man's eyes, relishing it. The dying man's legs folded, twitching spasmodically.
Fresh meat… Derrick dragged the warm corpse behind the dumpster and bent down to feed.
39
Get that prescription filled and try not to move your arm." Dr. Bornstein donned his coat and took another long look at Aleksi. It had taken the man ten minutes to stop staring at her before he cut the bullet out of her shoulder. "The slug did remarkably little damage. Your scapula should have been shattered but wasn't. Your bones seem to be…well, as changed as the rest of you, like something between cartilage and bone. As for the rest, I'll look into treatments for genetic diseases, but I can't promise anything. I never would have believed the human genome could be altered to this degree. It's a wonder you're alive."
"Thank you, Doctor." Aleksi struggled into her fleece shirt—The wound hurt, and the bandage restricted her movement—and reached for the long, flowing niqab that she'd worn from her hiding place to the Harvard Campus. It covered her completely, and if she kept her eyes down and her hands out of sight, she looked like any one of a thousand Muslim women in the greater Boston area.
"I'll fill the script and get it to you before you leave, Aleksi." Hutch stood and walked with Bornstein to the door. "What do I owe you for the house call?"
"You can't afford me." He looked back one more time at Aleksi and smiled for the first time since Aleksi had met him. "And you've already given me enough. If this ever comes to light, and I can publish… Well, then it is I who will owe you, young lady. Please try not to get shot again. You risk my Nobel prize with such behavior."
"Yes, Doctor." She didn't feel much like smiling.
He nodded, shook Hutch's hand and left. By the time she had the robe fashioned properly and the hood up, Hutch had the mess of the procedure cleaned up and in a biohazard bag. It would be disposed of in the morning without a second thought by the lab staff.
"Know any all-nig
ht pharmacies?" She moved her arm to test the bandage.
"CVS isn't far. Look, Aleksi, there's one more thing I want to talk to you about, but I didn't want to bring it up with Jim here. I got another call right after yours. It was Jasper."
A chill tickled the back of her neck. "What did he want?"
"I'll let you listen to the message." He pulled his phone and played the voicemail for her.
"Dr. Hutchinson, this is Sergeant Jasper. I'm in the Cambridge Hospital surgery waiting room, and will be for another few hours. My partner Marty Willis was attacked by Derrick Penningly a few hours ago. He damn near killed him. I'd like to talk to you about your last meeting with Penningly at your earliest convenience. This is urgent. Oh, and if you get any word from Aleksi Rychenkna, you might want to tell her the murder charges have been dropped, though we still want her for questioning."
Aleksi's mind spun with the news. "Wow." Derrick was out of control.
"Yeah. I thought he might have heard something about the incident at the Park Street station. They're calling that a terrorist situation, by the way. The whole city's looking for you, but not by name. When I heard this…well."
"Yeah." She bit her lip, having given up the nervous habit of biting her nails, since they weren't really nails anymore. "What do you think?"
"I'll have to talk to Jasper, but I don't know how much to tell him. I think Derrick's gone nuts if he's attacked a cop. Why would he ever think that would be a good idea?" Hutch shook his head.
"I think he's unstable, Hutch." She'd been thinking about this for a while, remembering his scent, the wrongness of him, the surge of danger. "I think the changes are affecting him differently than me, or his mind, anyway. I don't know why, but there's something different about Derrick."
Dragon Dreams Page 34
