“We’re here,” Pete said, holding up a hand to halt the entourage.
He punched in a code on a wall panel, and a metal door slid open to reveal a large warehouse with broken windows.
Drako would have no problem finding the place again. He’d carefully noted the path and stored it in his brain. They were on the upper level of the building in which they kept him on what appeared to be a closed rooftop. From the dirty and broken windowpanes, he could see a helicopter outside on a concrete slab. After assessing possible dangers and escape routes, his priority was locating his pod. He didn’t have to wait long. At Pete’s command, the guards drew a curtain aside. His pod stood in the middle of the floor. The left side was gone, due to the explosion. Irreparable. What concerned him more were the men in white coats surrounding his craft. They carried all kinds of ancient-looking tools. The dashboard that contained the communication system had been dismantled, the pieces lying neatly next to one another on a sheet on the floor.
He jerked forward with rage, only to receive the heel of Frik’s boot on his kidney.
“My technicians spent forty-eight hours on your plane,” Pete said, “without any luck. None of it makes sense. Show them how to repair it, and you can use it to fly home, wherever that is.”
He could smell the lie. It had a foul odor, like rotten food. His lip curled up in disgust.
“Well, buddy?” Pete said, giving him a slap on the shoulder. “What do you say?”
Falseness added another dimension of rot to the smell that poured from the man’s pores.
Drako gave him a level look. “I can’t assist in your request.”
Pete’s brow scrunched. “What?”
“I’m not a technician,” Drako said. “I don’t have the knowledge to fix the … plane.” Which was the truth.
“He’s lying,” Frik yelled. “I’ll get the truth out of him.”
“Like you did when Agent Morrison lost his arm?” Pete said. “No,” he shook his head, “I have a feeling he’s telling the truth.”
“Then he’s worth nothing to us.”
Pete turned to Drako. “Can you contact your planet?”
“No.” Not at the moment. If he managed to fix the distress signal feature on the communication device, maybe.
Pete grabbed his uninjured shoulder. “Tell us where you’re from.”
What damage could it do? They’d find out sooner than later. Anyway, he would eventually escape, and when he did, he wasn’t going to leave any evidence of the Krinar’s existence behind. It would be a few guards and agents’ wild story with nothing to show for it.
“Krina,” he replied.
Frik looked at Pete. “I’ve never heard of such a planet.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Drako said. “It’s in a different galaxy.”
Frik gave a snort-laugh. “You expect us to believe that?”
“Yes.” The man’s shortsighted vision was another one of his defects. Drako couldn’t truly blame him, seeing that the Krinar had kept their existence a secret for so long humans believed they were the only intelligent species in the universe. “I am a Krinar.”
“A Krinar, eh?” Frik chuckled. “He can’t repair his craft, and he can’t contact his people. I say we give him to research, see what they find if they cut him open.”
“I’d like to have a word with Frik in private,” Pete said.
At the command, the other guards scattered to the far end of the hall, out of earshot, but their bullets still in range.
Pete took Frik’s arm and pulled him aside. It was out of human earshot, but with Drako’s enhanced hearing, he had no problem following the conversation.
“He’s inhumanely strong,” Pete said in a hushed tone.
“All the more reason to let the science guys slice him up. The sooner the better.”
“You don’t understand. We can’t use his technology, and we can’t contact his home to trade him for their advanced weapons or knowledge, but we’re sitting on a goldmine.”
“Even if the metal of his plane is stronger than any reinforced titanium, what use is it if we can’t source or replicate it?”
Pete glanced at Drako. “It’s not the metal I’m interested in selling. It’s the man.”
Frik scratched his head. “The man?”
“We have the strongest soldier the world has ever seen in our possession.”
Frik’s gaze lit up. “You mean sell him?”
“Why would we sell one man if we can sell an army?”
“I’m not following. You’ve lost me.”
Pete brought his head closer to Frik’s. “DNA. We can make our own army. Countries would pay a fortune for it. Imagine the power we’ll have. I’m talking world manipulation.”
“Fucking brilliant,” Frik exclaimed. “We can sell the DNA for cloning.”
“Exactly.”
“I like you more and more, boss.”
“I’d have to run it past the president, but in my experience, he’s not a man to shy away from money or power, no matter how unorthodox it is.”
“Just make sure you get us each a big cut, enough to retire before word gets out and other countries let their spies loose on us.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll both have enough money to disappear forever. As far as I’m concerned, this operation never existed.”
Frik nodded his approval. “Good thinking.”
“Take him back to the cell,” Pete called to the guards. He addressed Frik in a softer voice. “Take a blood sample. We should be able to extract the DNA from that.”
Drako’s Krinar blood seethed. Of all the foul, under-handed manners in the universe, these humans displayed the worse. Not only were they cruel, but also greedy. He suppressed a wry chuckle. They were in for a surprise if they thought they’d clone him.
5
No matter how much Ilse immersed herself in work, she couldn’t get her mind off the man in the SS dungeon. She’d gone home with icy shivers running down her spine a warm shower hadn’t alleviated. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Drako spread-eagled against the wall, his haunting yellow eyes drilling into hers. “If I don’t get back to my pod, I’m as good as dead,” he’d said.
Was she losing her mind? It would’ve helped if she could talk to Caitlin who she considered a good friend, but there was no mistaking Pete’s warning. Talking could get her killed, run over, or something else that would look like an accident, not to mention putting Caitlin at risk. Already, she’d been looking over her shoulder all the way to work.
When her shift ended at four, she’d worked herself to near collapsing, but still her mind lingered on Drako. How was he coping? What were they doing to him? Where had they found him? She both prayed Agent Pillay would come back for her and that he wouldn’t. She simultaneously dreaded returning to that dungeon and not going back. In the slim chance they’d fetch her to check on Drako, she put in an order for painkillers and antibiotics at the medicine depot.
She was changing out of her uniform when Caitlin rapped on the change room door.
“Hey,” Ilse said in greeting.
“What’s this?” Caitlin held up the order. “Depot asked me to sign it off.”
“It’s for the prisoner, you know, the one the agent took me to see yesterday.”
“Mm-mm.” Caitlin leaned her hip against the doorframe. “I wanted to ask about that, but today I didn’t have five minutes to pee. How did it go?”
Ilse brushed her hair and redid the braid. “Fine.”
“You haven’t been yourself all day. You’re as jumpy as a Mexican bean.”
She forced a smile. “Just tired.”
“Told you to get more sleep.”
“That’s exactly what I’m planning on doing after running some errands.”
Caitlin signed the form on her clipboard and handed it to Ilse. “Here you go.”
“I’ll swing by the depot, and then I’m off. Call me if you need an extra hand on the midnight shift.” She picked up her bag.
“Uh-uh.” Caitlin pointed a finger at her. “Sleep.”
“Yes, boss.”
“That’s better. I don’t want to worry my ass off about you.”
Ilse waved over her shoulder. “You worry too much.”
While she waited for the order at the medicine depot, she eyed the staff on duty until she spotted the new pharmacist graduate.
“Annemarie, right?”
The girl approached the counter. “Have we met?”
“I’m Ilse. Welcome to the team. How are you enjoying the job so far?”
“It’s all right, I guess.”
Ilse glanced around to check that no one was within earshot. “I meant to ask you something.”
The girl looked uncomfortable. “I don’t fabricate drugs for recreational purposes.”
“No, nothing like that. I’ve heard that you know about a black market for medicine.”
Annemarie’s cheeks blanched. “Who said that?”
“Rumors. You know how the staff talks in the canteen.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, we’re out of Rifampin. Our new batch was stolen, and there’s this old lady who missed out on her monthly dose. I promised I’d get her some.”
Her voice rose in panic. “You’re planning on buying it from the black market?”
“Check the inventory. A new batch isn’t due until next month.”
“You’re serious?”
“I promised. She came all the way from Alexandra only to be sent away empty-handed.”
The girl bit her lip. “Look, I’ve only heard some rumors.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You didn’t hear it from me.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Annemarie leaned over the counter, lowering her voice to a whisper. “There’s a shop called Amina’s Fabrics at the Oriental Plaza. Ask for red silk from India.”
“Thanks.”
Annemarie opened her mouth, but before she could say something, the pharmacist on duty returned with Ilse’s order.
Annemarie gave Ilse a resigned look. “Be careful.”
“It was good to meet you.”
She signed for the medicine and made her way to the parking lot. The Plaza closed at five. If she didn’t get stuck in traffic, she could make it there in under an hour. Knowing the back roads through Brixton, it took her less then thirty-five minutes to pull up at the Plaza. The traffic was already heavy with the office workers who started at seven and knocked off at four. Peak-hour would erupt at five. She didn’t look forward to getting stuck in the traffic in town, but there was no helping it.
Making her way through the arched entrance of the open-air market, she stopped to get her bearings. She hadn’t been here since shopping with her mother as a child. The area had gone backward in the last few years, becoming too risky for carefree shopping. The place was exactly as she remembered. The food stalls were near the entrance. The fragrance of fried samosas and curry hung in the air.
“Cheap watches,” a vendor called from a jewelry stand. “A Rolex for the pretty lady.”
She made her way through the stalls of homeware, clothes, and spices toward the closed area where the textiles were sold.
“Ten percent discount. Today only!”
“Pretty dresses. Touch them. See? Real chiffon.”
“Tandoori spices. Ready mixed. No wedding ring, I see. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Here, take a sample.”
At last, the escalators came into sight. She hurried to the first floor that ran in a square around the ground level market. Anima’s Fabrics was located in one of the farthest corners, next to a pet shop.
“Hello,” a parrot cried from his cage in front of the pet shop when she entered Amina’s store.
A bell chimed over the door. The fragrance of incense and fabric greeted her. A fan stirred hot air around the room. A friendly-looking woman wearing a sari approached her with a smile. Her gray hair was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck.
“Good day. What can I do for you? We have beautiful wedding dress silk on sale. Or maybe some blue for an evening gown?” The woman took a roll of fabric from a shelf and held it in front of Ilse. “Look at that, how it brings out your eyes. Yes, look. Come.” She turned her toward a mirror fitted on the wall.
“Actually,” Ilse cleared her throat, “I’m looking for some red silk from India.”
The women’s hands stilled a moment before she returned the fabric to the shelf. Her eyes turned hard as she called to the back. “Ismael, here’s a customer for you.”
A young man with a pimply face exited from behind a curtain. He held the curtain aside. “Through here.” With a smile, he waved her into a small, windowless room.
The woman mumbled an insult under her breath and turned her back on them.
“Sorry about that,” he said once she was inside. “My mother doesn’t like that I run my business from the back.”
You bet.
He pushed a pair of gold-framed spectacles onto his nose and sat down behind a desk the size of an apple box. “What do you need?”
“Rifampin.”
“Ah. You’re in luck. I got in a new batch. How much do you need?”
“How much does it cost?”
“For you, a special price. One thousand five hundred rand for thirty capsules.”
She nearly choked. “What? That’s three times the retail price.”
“Yeah, but the demand warrants the price. I guarantee you won’t find it elsewhere. I’m the sole stocker. Go try the hospitals and see for yourself.”
“Don’t I know,” she gritted out.
It took all her self-control not to call him a thief who robbed poor, sick people of their health. If she thought it would make a difference, she’d report him, but the police were often involved, taking kickbacks from the black market dealers.
Grudgingly, she dug the money from her purse. “I only have enough for one box.”
“No worries.” He flashed her a gold-toothed smile. “You can always come back when you have more cash. I give a ten percent discount to my loyal customers.”
After stashing the money in his back pocket, he took a key from the other pocket and unlocked a cabinet. He removed the Rifampin and sealed it in a brown bag.
Pushing it over the desk, he said, “It’ll be five rand for the bag.”
She stared at him incredulously. About to say something insulting, she swallowed it back. The faster she could get out of here, the better. She took the coin from her purse and left it on the desk. She left without a greeting.
“Thanks for your business,” he called after her in a cheerful voice.
The woman looked up from behind the counter. “Junkie,” she mumbled as Ilse exited the shop.
Only outside did she breathe easier. She kept on looking over her shoulder, not knowing if she expected to see an SS agent or police officer. If a police officer arrested her for illegal black market dealings, she’d have to buy her way out, and although she wasn’t suffering financially, she didn’t have a lot of money in her savings account. She only relaxed once she was safely locked in her car. It was too late to drive to Alexandra. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
As expected, she hit the peak-hour traffic, getting stuck in a bottleneck outside the Plaza. Instead of heading back to Brixton, she decided to go via Newtown. With the city center mostly being a ghost town, the traffic should be lighter. She turned the radio to a classical station to soothe her nerves. Every part of her body was clenched tight. She couldn’t shake the feeling of pending doom. Her tension only got worse as she looked up and spotted the Nelson Mandela Bridge that connected Braamfontein with downtown. She stared at it for a long time, the time it took for the traffic light to change three times, to be exact. Agent Pillay had driven for no more than ten to fifteen minutes after he’d made her put on the blindfold on that bridge, which meant the build
ing where the SS kept Drako couldn’t be far. Several shivers ran in succession down her spine. Her gaze darted around the skyscrapers, many of which were deserted. When crime had moved in, businesses had moved out. She followed the road from the bridge with her eyes to where it circled before the mine dumps and continued east, and then she spotted it––a black SS helicopter parked on a rooftop. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. The building was the old, abandoned police headquarters where political prisoners had allegedly been tortured. It was supposed to be deserted, only it wasn’t.
6
The door rattled and opened. Drako lifted his head. He’d rested as much as he could in the upright position. He didn’t need as much sleep as humans, but he couldn’t sustain his strength for long without water. Eventually, he’d also need nutrients. He didn’t need an evaluation from a medical expert to know his wounds were infected. He could feel the foreign bacteria invading his cells.
The Krinar Experiment Page 4
