The man nodded. “Parker Overton, FBI,” he stated in a flat, by-the-book voice. “What is that thing?” He pointed at Leonardo and did not offer to shake hands.
Great, another stiff-ass they’d have to break in, Harry thought. “I’m Harry, this is my wife, Anastasia, and this,” he pointed to Leonardo, “is our guide when we go to Italy. His name is Leonardo. Call him Leo.”
“I’m aware of that,” the reply came in the same non-emotional voice.
Well, if he was aware of it, then why did he have to ask? His face never changed expression. It retained its bland, tofu look, mixing boredom with the faintest trace of disdain. If this guy was trying to look and sound officious, he was doing a very good job of it—and it wasn’t impressive at all.
“Agent Farrell gave me the details,” continued Overton in an officious manner, ticking off the points of their itinerary on his fingers. “I’m to take you home and pick you up tomorrow afternoon at six. We’ll leave for the airport at seven, and—”
“First thing in the morning,” Harry interrupted, “we’re going to see Agent Farrell at whichever hospital he’s staying at. I need to talk to him.”
The ticking off gesture stopped, replaced by a look on Overton’s face that resembled a constipated water buffalo. “This isn’t proper protocol—”
“It’s our call,” Anastasia cut in with a defiant note in her voice, a note that said argue with me and you get slashed. “We know Farrell, he’s our friend, and we need to see him. You’re FBI, but we’re private citizens.” The anger in her voice grew. “So if you want our cooperation, you’ll give us this. It isn’t too much to ask.”
After what seemed like an eternity, Overton finally nodded. “Let’s get going.”
He guided them downstairs to the garage and over to a small Honda. They squeezed inside and he took off, driving steadily through the traffic and dropping them off at their cabin. “I’ll see you tomorrow at six,” he said in a frosty voice.
Leonardo immediately made for the couch and passed out. Harry took up a position on a nearby chair, and Anastasia came over to sit on his lap, winding her arms around his neck. “I know you’re worried about Farrell. I am, too. But we have to do this. You and me... and him,” she gestured to Leonardo. “This is for us and for Istvan.”
“I got it.”
She kissed him hard and got off his lap. “I’m going to get some rest. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Anastasia walked inside the bedroom, and the door closed behind her. Harry sat in his chair, brooding over the unfairness of life, and stayed in the same position until his wife came out six hours later to replace him in his guard duties.
Overton appeared promptly at four the next day. The sun was out, but Harry took no joy in it. He’d been thinking about illness and death, and while grateful for his own enhanced immune system, he knew everyone else wasn’t nearly as lucky. “I know I’m early, but let’s go, anyway,” the agent said once Harry opened the front door. “We’ve got a schedule to keep, and I’m not going to get stuck in traffic with...”
His voice trailed away, but Harry had a feeling he would have said “stuck in traffic with a bunch of freaks.” It was only a feeling, though.
Shepherding them out to his car, Overton said not a word as he drove downtown to St. Hilda’s, a small hospital at the edge of the city. Naturally, Anastasia got carsick—she always had in the past—and fortunately, the agent had a few extra plastic bags on hand. “Are you going to make it?” he asked her after she’d puked for the third time.
“Shut up and drive.”
After parking in an underground garage for reasons of privacy, Harry took the elevator up to the main floor alone, dreading what he had to see. “I’m here to see Miles Farrell,” he said to a middle-aged nurse at the counter.
To her credit, she didn’t stare, simply nodded and said, “It’s this way.”
As he entered the room, Farrell was sitting up in bed, checking things on his cellphone. He had an IV in his right arm. He turned his head, intoning in a dry voice, “I’m not dead yet. It’s bad, but I can manage,” and then added, “I saw the look on your face. Don’t wear that sad look for me.”
Harry hadn’t been aware of any such thing, but duly nodded and took a seat by the side of the bed. Although he couldn’t actually see it, he sensed it, the sense of loss that hung in the air. He’d always had this man as his guide and his moral compass, and now...
“I, uh, I don’t know what to do.”
“You deal with it.” Farrell’s voice came out sharply, belying his condition. “You deal with it, as you always have. Like I said yesterday, I can’t go with you, not this time, but you’ll be in contact with Jason, Maze, and Overton. He’s not as good as I am, but he won’t steer you wrong.”
Frustrated, Harry blew out a deep breath. “We’ve already met. He’s like all the others. He doesn’t trust us.”
“Admittedly, he comes off like a hard case, just like I did.” Farrell’s voice turned reflective and he shifted around in bed, grunting as he did so. “He doesn’t know you. He’ll come around, but the thing is, you’ll have to trust him. He’ll be with you in Italy, and he’ll also be on hand to guard Leonardo. I’ll be here if you need to talk to me.”
He’ll be here... how long? The question of how long reverberated in Harry’s mind. How long did anyone have? It was a great philosophical question, but now was not the time to ask.
Instead, Farrell answered it for him. “You know the details, and there’s no point in going over them again. Don’t cry over me. I knew this before, but I,” his voice cut out, and he coughed, “I wanted to go on as long as I could.”
With a sigh, he sank back. “I wish I had a little more time, that’s all.”
A sob burst from Harry’s chest. This was one of those moments where he was supposed to show a certain amount of toughness. Like all the movies and books said, be a man. Take control and act like an adult instead of a teen. He’d already taken the step of getting married, so why couldn’t he show a little maturity now?
Emotions ended up getting the better of him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he put his head down in order to avoid shedding tears.
A hand patted him on the shoulder. Picking his head up, he found Farrell gazing at him steadily. “You can do this,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “You have to. There’s no one else. Istvan is in trouble, and he needs two special people to bring him home. One of those special people is you. The other special person is your wife. I’ll be here when you get back, and I’d better get a detailed report.” The iron then resurfaced. “Now get going.”
Wordlessly, Harry arose, took in a deep breath, and nodded. He walked to the door and opened it, but the voice of his mentor stopped him. “I couldn’t be prouder of you than if you were my own child. And the same goes for Anastasia. Now go and do what you do best. Make the world safe.”
“I will.”
As he exited the hospital, Anastasia caught up to him outside and escorted him over to the van. “How is he?”
What could he say? “Bad.” Harry climbed in and took a seat next to Leonardo. “But he’s still in charge. He told me what to do.”
Overton nodded, and his jowls quivered. Outside of his body parts shaking, he never seemed to change his expression. “He told me the same thing as well. We’ve got a flight to catch.”
After they’d piled into the car, Overton handed over a piece of paper, saying “This is my cellphone number. Call me if there’s an emergency.”
“Thanks,” Harry replied as he pocketed the number, wondering if this signaled a thaw in relations or simply a professional courtesy. Time would tell.
“I think it is nice to go home,” opined Leonardo once more as they got underway. “But now I look so different, I think everyone is maybe not so happy to see me again. I do not think anyone who knows me will remember me.”
Harry said nothing. He was busy thinking about Farrell, about possibly meeting up with Istvan, but
more than that, he was worried about the human side of things. Leo’s words about everyone—meaning humans—not being happy to see him hit home.
Like it or not, the battle lines had already been drawn. There were people out there who wanted him out of the way, him and others like him. Moreover, they would stop at nothing in order to achieve their goals.
Chapter Four: Trouble Along the Way
During the nine-hour flight over on a specially chartered six-seat airplane courtesy of the FBI, Overton gave them the lowdown. “From what Intelligence and your geek friends in New York said, we figure the main group of transgenics is under the Vatican.”
By “geek friends” he meant Jason and Maze. Although he casually tossed off the term and probably meant it as a joke, it came across as being shallow, snotty and self-righteous. Harry wondered how much field experience he’d had and asked him. It surprised him in a pleasant way when the chubby man actually blushed.
“Uh, this is my first mission. If it makes you feel any better, I graduated top of my class at Quantico.”
Anastasia flashed a smile and her sarcasm sliced the air. “Great, we get a rookie. Do you know what you’re in for?”
Overton’s face twisted and a belligerent tone entered his voice. “I have a pretty good idea. I studied the case files.”
His response got a laugh from her, although this wasn’t a time for humor. What they were more than likely to walk into was an ambush. If it didn’t come from the transgenics, it would come from the citizens on patrol... and they wouldn’t be carrying pillows. “Then I’d suggest, Agent Overton, you study a bit more and let us do the tracking,” Harry supplied. “You’ll be safer that way.”
Anastasia giggled as a bright shade of scarlet suffused Overton’s face. “Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll listen for your input.”
As if to cover up his social faux pas, he noisily cleared his throat and excused himself to go and talk to the pilot. Leonardo twisted around in his seat. “That man... he is a friend?”
“Sort of,” replied Anastasia.
“I think he no unnerstan’ what to do.”
Harry had to admit, the little dude had managed to figure things out pretty fast. “We’ll protect you. Don’t worry.”
He received no answer save a short and somewhat sad snuffling sound. Initially, he’d had the hope their newest addition to the transgenic fold would be a bit more active, but Leo, like Istvan, seemed to be the passive type and did not volunteer any additional information. He merely curled up in his seat and remained silent.
A few seconds later, Overton came back with three pills in his hands. “We’ll need to track your whereabouts. These are for you. They’re—”
“Transponders,” answered Harry. He recognized the shape, as he and Anastasia had taken them before. Swallowed, they lay in the gut and could transmit a person’s location from anywhere in the world for approximately seventy-two hours.
He took one and swallowed it. Anastasia did the same. Leo took his and downed it without asking any questions. He then promptly went to sleep. Overton observed him, and nodding his head, produced a small computer from his briefcase. “Take this,” he said. “It’s linked to your geek buddies in New York...”
“Call them geeks one more time,” Harry interrupted, and now he felt truly annoyed at this man’s attitude, “and you can fly outside. We’re all on the same page, as you Fed boys like to say.”
“Or overfed, as I say,” Anastasia put in with a straight face. “Don’t try the routine with us. We’ve already had it once, and from a better person than you.”
Point made, she gazed at him, her features composed, but her eyes radiated anger, and the other man’s face turned scarlet once again. “Sorry, you have my apologies.”
“Better, that’s better.”
In a smooth motion, Harry took the computer, booted it up, and Overton gave him the password. He typed in Jason, you there, then waited.
A few seconds later, the reply came back. Hey, have some pasta for me while you’re in Italy. Your signal is coming through fine. Maze has got you pegged about five hours from Rome.
Overton glanced at the computer and confirmed the arrival time. “We’ll be met by a member of the Rome police department. His name is Lieutenant Corelli. Apparently, he’s got some pull with the transgenic crowd. He didn’t say how, but we’ve been in touch with him for a couple of weeks.”
It seemed like a plan. Harry logged off after telling his friend he’d contact him once they landed, and got settled. Anastasia linked her arm with his, and he closed his eyes...
“Hey, we’re here.”
Harry blinked at the sound of his wife’s voice. The airplane had stopped. Gazing outside the window, he saw the interior of what seemed to be an airplane hangar. “We got in a few minutes ago,” she said. “Overton’s talking to Corelli.”
She then shook Leo awake and he came to, blinking at the sudden influx of harsh artificial light from the outside.
Stretching and feeling his strength and alertness return, Harry arose and followed her out of the plane, with Leo tagging along after them. Their new handler was in the process of talking to a tall, heavily built man with a pencil-thin mustache. He appeared to be in his forties.
Overton turned around and said, “Guys, this is Lieutenant Mario Corelli of the Rome Police. He’ll be in charge of leading us to where Leo said he was.”
Everyone offered greetings, and Leo immediately broke into rapid-fire Italian as if grateful to have someone to talk to in his native language. Corelli didn’t seem to be surprised in the least, and the two had a conversation for about five minutes before the lieutenant put up his hand for silence.
Having done so, he turned to Harry. “Leonardo has told me what happened,” he said in flawless English with only the faintest trace of an accent. “I have an idea of where this place is. We must search there. Since it is night now, we shall leave immediately. I have a truck waiting.”
Anastasia asked, “What about backup? We might run into some people who aren’t too happy to see us, if you know what I mean.”
“If you are inferring there are others like you,” Corelli said, “I have two men with me and they are armed—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I’m talking about others like you—humans. From what I read online, the regular people here aren’t too happy about our existence.”
A grim look quickly flashed across Corelli’s face. He hemmed and hawed, finally admitting there had been trouble. “Our citizenry is not overly accepting, this much is true, and I am one of the few people able to see both sides. That is why we are going now. It is dark, and the time is half past the hour of eleven. If we go now, there is less chance of being seen and encountering trouble.”
His explanation made sense. Corelli gestured with his arm and they exited the hangar, where a black van waited, its engine idling. Opening the back door, they saw two men wearing dark blue police uniforms sitting inside, holding machine guns. To their credit, they didn’t recoil, and their expressions remained impassive. He spoke to them and they nodded. “You will be safe with us,” he said.
Harry and crew piled in and Corelli took the wheel, with Overton sitting in the passenger seat. They moved out and drove steadily through the silent streets out onto the highway, and within an hour, the city gave way to country. Leo periodically sniffed the air and seemed calm enough, but suddenly he got agitated and started to scratch the metal walls as if trying to escape. “We are here,” he whispered. “I smell... blood.”
One of the policemen banged on the window and yelled something. Immediately, Corelli hauled the vehicle over to the side of the road and stopped. The policemen opened the back door and gestured for everyone to exit.
“This is place,” Leo said. “I remember farmhouse near here.”
Gazing around, Harry took in the simplicity of the countryside. Tall stalks of wheat waved in the warm evening breeze, and the air smelled clean... for the most part. At the same time, though, a
faint whiff of blood came through to his nostrils... fresh blood. He unslung the computer and quickly sent a message to Jason. We’re in the countryside, about an hour away from Rome. Are you following us?
A reply came back from Jason within thirty seconds. We’ve got you. Stay safe, okay?
Will do.
Harry logged off and turned to Leo. “Lead the way.”
The area was silent, but something in the air besides the scent of blood caused every hair on the nape of Harry’s neck to stand up. Anastasia remained by his side, sniffing the air as they went along, and Leo meekly followed behind, muttering something in nervous, rapid-fire Italian. Corelli and his men took point, weapons at the ready.
Abruptly, Leo scampered in front of everyone and pointed at a farmhouse. “There, it is there.”
He said something to Corelli, and in turn, the lieutenant ordered his men to move ahead with caution. As they approached the structure, nothing impeded their way, but Leo dropped to the ground and started sniffing around. “They were here,” he said.
“Who was?” That came from Anastasia. “Are you talking about people like us?”
“No, they are other ones.”
Harry immediately got a bad feeling. Death squads... he’d read about them, and now it seemed as though the old pulp fiction ideas were true. A click off to his right startled him. It was the bolt of a weapon being thrown. “Get down!”
Grabbing Anastasia around the waist, he pulled her down with him and covered her with his body. In turn, she grabbed Leo and the three of them hugged each other along with the earth. A second later, machine gun fire erupted out of the darkness.
Corelli and his men weren’t so lucky. They had been mowed down like wheat before a scythe, and fell without being able to get off one shot. Overton pulled his pistol out and returned fire, but a second later a loud crack sounded. The agent spun around and fell to the ground clutching his left shoulder. “Damn it,” he cried, “they were waiting for us!”
Separation Page 5
