by Jade Kerrion
He had dragged Danyael into this nightmare, against Danyael’s will and better judgment, and Danyael had been right. His past would have been better left buried, undisturbed. What had he gained? The added heartache of knowing how much his family despised and hated him, and the added burden of carrying their absorbed emotions.
Lucien clenched his hands on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He owed Danyael an apology; hell, he owed Danyael a whole lot more than that, but Danyael never called in the favors owed to him anyway.
What could he do now? What could he possibly say to tell Danyael just how wrong he was?
He released a pained sigh and reached for the key in the ignition, but stopped short when his breath caught on a choked sob in his throat. He reached for his cell phone, stared at it for a brief moment, and punched in a now-familiar number.
Xin picked up on the other end even before the phone completed its first ring. “What happened? Is everything all right?”
She must have been going crazy waiting at his home for someone to call with the latest news, but her voice was calm despite the urgency inherent in her question. Her voice was an instant balm to his soul. He inhaled deeply, and for the first time since he witnessed the horror of Danyael being shot, he felt like he was breathing clean air. “Everyone’s alive, including Galahad, who appears to be on excellent terms with the five abominations. Somehow they all survived the collapse of Purest Humanity.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, that’s just about all the good news we have. Danyael was shot. I think he’s going to be okay, but for a while, we didn’t think he’d make it.”
“Is he all right? Are you all right?”
Odd that she would think to ask about him as well. “He’s fine…well, he’ll survive,” Lucien amended. “Fine is still debatable at this point.” Sighing softly, he started at the beginning, relating the bare facts of everything that had happened.
Xin listened in silence, and when he finished, she spoke again, her voice soft with compassion. “I’m sure Danyael is in good hands now. How are you doing?”
He shook his head in confusion. “Why are you asking about me?”
“Well, Danyael is one of your closest friends. Seeing him get shot and almost die must have been a huge shock for you. I know you well enough to suspect that it is tearing you up inside. Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want someone to be with you when you visit Danyael at the council headquarters?”
She amazed him and humbled him. “I can be there in about an hour.”
“I’ll see you there, Lucien. Drive safe.”
Lucien turned the key in the ignition and pulled his BMW out of the parking lot. He was about five miles down the state road when he saw the first in a long series of military vehicles, including some of the latest APCs that were more tank than truck.
He bit back several choice curse words, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed Zara’s number. “Get out of there,” he ordered the moment she picked up the phone. “The game is up; a military convoy is on its way to the lab. You’ve got five minutes to make a run for it.”
“Got it.”
“Get to Leesburg Executive Airport. I’ll have a private jet standing by.”
“Will do.” She hung up on him.
He made one more call to Phillip Evans with instructions for the private jet. Downshifting, he accelerated, driving at near reckless speeds through the winding country roads that would take him from rural Boonsboro to the urban jungle of Washington, D.C. He had to get to Danyael.
The equation had changed completely, and he did not know how the game would play out anymore.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Zara’s negotiations did not start out well.
Roland Rakehell planted his feet in a wide, openly aggressive stance. “Who the hell is she, and what is she doing here?” he demanded, pointing at Zara.
“My name is Zara Itani, and I was once engaged to your son, Jason. However, that has nothing to do with why I’m here today. Let’s just say I’ve appointed myself Galahad’s representative in this matter to ensure that his rights are appropriately protected.”
“Galahad’s non-human,” Roland retorted flatly. “He has no rights.”
Galahad’s dark eyes flashed, and he took a single step forward, but Zara placed a hand on his arm, holding him back. Her eyes iced over, but her smile never faltered. “In that case then, you’ll be negotiating directly with me, since I am Galahad’s current owner.”
“What?” Roland’s jaw dropped with shock at her audacity.
“I freed him from the laboratory two nights ago, just before Jason’s goons burned the place down.”
“All that makes you is a thief. Galahad is still my rightful property.”
“Wrong,” Zara said flatly, toying with the edge of her dagger. “To the victor go the spoils of war. Galahad is mine. I didn’t steal the abominations, but since they seem attached to him, I guess I’m, by extension, their new owner too.”
“You have no legal claim to him. We’ll get him back in a court of law.”
“There’s only one problem with that. The person with the most expensive lawyers wins—which would make it Lucien. I would have thought you’d be eager to settle it out of court, if only to avoid all that career-destroying publicity. I want you to relinquish all claims to Galahad. What’s your price?”
“There is no damned price!” Roland burst out. “That’s completely out of the bounds of responsible research. He is a created lab animal; setting him free would be like creating a pathogen that has never before existed and releasing it into the atmosphere just to see what it does to decimate the human race.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting, Roland.”
“No, I’m not! The only difference between him and the abominations is in the genes we used. The process that created them was absolutely identical. There is no place for him out there, just like there’s no place for the abominations out there.”
“He is not an abomination. The scientific process was the same, but the genes make all the difference. We’ve spent our entire lives working with the premise that genes do matter. We spent twenty-five years testing Galahad, only to conclude each and every day that Galahad is a superb specimen of a human being. It’s time for us to let go. It’s done, Roland. Finished,” Michael concluded with absolute finality.
“No, it’s not!”
“Yes, it is!” Michael roared, stalking over to Roland. He seized Roland’s shirt and shook him hard. “I just saw your son shoot his own brother in cold blood because you chose your pet science project over your own flesh and blood. I’ve seen the three lives you’ve wrecked because you couldn’t see past your obsession with Galahad. Go find something else to be obsessed over, because we’re done here.”
Zara arched an eyebrow and almost applauded. She had never met Michael Cochran before, but she was impressed. He was the voice of calm reason to Roland’s single-minded obsession.
Flustered with anger, Roland pulled out of Michael’s grip. “I won’t let everything we’ve worked for our entire lives mean nothing! Galahad isn’t any less perfect just because we used templates. Our work isn’t any less groundbreaking. If you’re going to insist on turning Galahad free, then I want to ensure that our reputation at least remains perfectly intact.”
“Not much chance of it now that the abominations made the evening news,” Michael remarked dryly.
“No one knows yet that we used templates. I want that part buried. Forever.”
Michael shrugged and looked over at Zara.
She shrugged too and said, “Not many people know, and those who do are good at keeping secrets. There’s nothing to be gained from revealing the truth anyway, especially once Galahad’s freedom is ensured. I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“The only person with anything to gain is Luke,” Roland said.
“Luke?” Zara asked. “Who’s Luke?”
“Danyael,” Jason cor
rected quietly.
“Why would Danyael want news like this made public?”
“You mean besides the fact that he could file a multimillion-dollar lawsuit against Pioneer Laboratories for using his genetic code without his consent?” Jason asked. “I can’t imagine why else. He wouldn’t need to work for another day in his life.”
“Danyael doesn’t want or need money,” Galahad said.
“Right, Lucien would be happy to let Danyael sponge off him for the rest of his life,” Zara agreed.
“It’s not the money,” Roland insisted. He looked like a dog crouched over a bone, teeth bared. “He could use the information to blackmail us into accepting him back into the family.”
Zara burst out laughing. Had Roland looked into a mirror recently? Did he realize that he was an obsessed sociopath and that his elder son wasn’t a significant improvement on him? Who would want to join a family like that? But then again, Danyael wasn’t much of a prize either, so perhaps he did belong with them.
Galahad assessed Roland. “Danyael touched you too. He changed something in Jason, but what changed in you?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with this,” Roland retorted.
“It has everything to do with this. Answer the question.”
Roland glared at Galahad before biting off the answer. “Nothing. Nothing changed.”
Zara glanced at Galahad. “What does that mean? That Danyael’s not as powerful as everyone thinks?”
“Or maybe there wasn’t anything to change,” Galahad said. “Jason hated Danyael and me. On the other hand, Roland was an indifferent father, because he had other priorities. If there aren’t any inherent emotions to alter, there would have been nothing for Danyael to work with.”
Roland apparently did not care for a technical discussion of the mutant’s empathic capabilities. “I want to be sure that Luke will never reveal that he’s the template for Galahad.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him, or Lucien will,” Zara promised.
“Not good enough.” Roland folded his arms across his chest. “In exchange for letting Galahad go, I need a hundred percent guarantee that Luke will never speak of this.”
Zara’s cell phone rang, interrupting the conversation. She glanced at the caller ID. “Just a moment.” She accepted the call and after a cryptic conversation, hung up less than thirty seconds later. “We’re leaving. Now,” Zara announced brusquely.
“Why?”
“Let’s go, Galahad.”
“Not unless you explain,” he insisted. “We’ve got our best chance here to negotiate the terms of my freedom.”
“Not anymore. There are military vehicles on their way here, and the last time I checked, they’re not big into negotiation.” She paused as she caught a flicker of recognition and alarm on Roland’s face. Awareness dawned in an instant, followed by a burst of shock. She closed the distance to Roland in three long strides. “What is Galahad’s connection with the military?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re lying.” Violet eyes narrowed dangerously.
Roland arched his head back nervously as the black blade of her dagger slid against his throat, a hairsbreadth from his skin.
“Start talking; I don’t have much time.”
Roland said nothing. It was Michael who spoke. “Initially, nothing. Galahad was created independently of any military funding, as were the abominations. But after the pro-humanists successfully lobbied against his human classification, our research funding dried up. DARPA—the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency—stepped in at that point, and after reviewing our early work on the abominations and Galahad, they agreed to fund our research.”
“Why?”
Michael Cochran inhaled deeply, his eyes in turmoil. “Because they were convinced we were on the right path to building super soldiers. We had created the abominations with accelerated regeneration capabilities, superhuman strength, and speed. With Galahad, we abandoned our attempts to create him with similar traits since—for whatever reason—the sum of the effects were—” he glanced at the abominations. “Less than stellar. Instead we opted for an extended lifespan and enhanced awareness.”
“Kinesthetic foresight,” Zara murmured. It explained Galahad’s exceptional reflexes and hand-to-hand fighting prowess.
“Yes,” Michael confirmed. “We…I…wanted the abominations put down. They’re dangerous and can’t be controlled, but DARPA overruled. They thought we could learn more from them, and from Galahad. That’s why we did all those experiments on you.” He looked at Galahad, his expression apologetic, even guilty. “They wanted to know your capabilities, your limitations, the likelihood of your cracking under pressure. They want to use you as the genetic template—as the starting point—for a breed of super-soldiers, though they wanted to add a few minor modifications.”
Confusion flicked across Galahad’s face. “Such as?”
“They concluded that you were too intelligent, too strong-willed. They’re trying to breed sergeants, not four-star generals.”
“That kind of attitude certainly goes a long way toward explaining why we’re in danger of losing our status as a military superpower,” Zara said. Nothing in her voice betrayed her sense of heightened urgency. “We’re out of time. Let’s go.”
Galahad gritted his teeth. “One last question: which one of you called the military in?”
Silence. Michael and Roland exchanged accusatory glances, but no one said anything.
Galahad nodded and turned to follow Zara as she climbed out over the broken window. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the abominations lumbering after him. “We can’t take your car. There’s not enough time to make a clean break. We’ll be arrested if we pass them, and there’s only one road in and out of Pioneer Labs for about two miles.”
“I know.” She ran toward the only gate in the high electric fence that surrounded the compound. “We’ll lie low till they pass us, then head down to the town of Boonsboro and snag a car there.” She slipped out through the open gate and veered right, racing for the densely wooded area. Just past a sharp dip in the terrain, she threw herself flat against the ground. Seconds later, Galahad joined her.
They were not a moment too soon. Five seconds later, the first APC in the military convoy turned the corner, permitting the occupants of the vehicle their first full view of Pioneer Labs and of the five abominations lumbering toward them. Cries of alarm, even panic, carried down the line as the soldiers opened fire.
Zara glanced at Galahad’s flawless profile. Anguish flickered through his dark eyes before he closed them and turned his face away from her. He breathed out, a jagged and unsteady sound.
“Let’s keep moving,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the snarls of the abominations and the screams of the dying soldiers. Inching down the hill, he was well out of sight of the road when he finally pushed to his feet. He glanced back toward the road. The sounds were muted now, deflected by the dense tree line, but still audible.
“I’m sorry,” Zara said simply. She laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I know.” Galahad’s voice was steady, but his eyes were dark with emotions she could not easily decipher.
She said nothing else; she could not find the words. Instead, she slipped her hand into his, and was surprised when he squeezed her hand in acknowledgement. It took him a few more moments to come to terms with some inner turmoil, but finally he said, “Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, they reached the little town of Boonsboro. The residents were in an uproar over the military convoy that had passed through its main street. Zara and Galahad’s pace dropped to a casual stroll as they entered the more populated areas. Zara slipped her arm through Galahad’s, a simple gesture that lent them an appearance of normality as they walked down a street filled with people who had gathered to express concern and outrage against Pioneer Labs and the military.
“That one.” Zara nodded toward a florist’s de
livery truck idling on a side street. Boonsboro was a quiet backwater town in rural Maryland, after all. No one thought of locking doors there. She slipped into the driver’s seat, waited until Galahad was seated, and then navigated through narrow side streets back onto the main street. She did not pick up speed until they were out of town. “I think we’re about an hour from Leesburg.”
He nodded and then glanced at her. “Would you have made a different decision if you’d known I was a military experiment?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“No.” Her mischievous grin flashed. “But I would have gotten you out of the country a hell of a lot sooner.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Leesburg Executive Airport. Lucien said he’d have a plane there for us.”
“And then?”
She shrugged. “We’ll have to make up a plan as we go. I know a couple of places where we can hide out for a while to sort through our options. I have some resources, and Lucien has even more. We’ll find a way to get through this as long as we can make it past the initial dragnet.” She glanced out the rearview mirror. They were not followed, at least not yet.
Safety was an hour away. For them, it was practically a lifetime away.
~*~
The narrow two-way road leading into Pioneer Labs was a bottleneck, trapping the military convoy one vehicle behind the other. The abominations that would otherwise have been outnumbered clawed and tore through the unprepared crew of each APC one at a time.
It took over a half hour to bring the precarious situation back under control. By then, more than fifty soldiers had been killed and twice that number injured. Most of them would not survive the trip to the hospital.
Major General John Hayes, head of the Genetics Division of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, was in a decidedly foul mood by the time his adjunct informed him that the abominations had been neutralized and the way to Pioneer Labs was clear. He climbed out of his car at the end of the military convoy and strode past injured soldiers lying in neat rows on the roadside. His smooth jaw was twitching by the time he arrived at the gate of Pioneer Labs to find Michael Cochran and Roland Rakehell, together with a younger man he did not recognize, waiting for him.
