Separation

by J. S. Frankel

  The others resembled goats, with small horns protruding from their skulls, although their features were essentially human. They looked like twins, and Harry remembered reading about experiments performed on twins in an earlier, terrible war...

  “You must be Harry Goldman,” the man said in an elegant French accent, and then nodded politely at Anastasia. “Are you his girlfriend?”

  “I’m his wife,” she said.

  Lambert nodded. “It is good you have found each other. I also see a special guest, one my Italian compatriot, Monsignor Morello, told me about.” He aimed his forefinger at Istvan. Leo blinked and looked away, as if disconcerted at not being included in the introductions.

  “I am the French government’s special envoy for transgenic affairs,” he continued, indicating his men with a slight wave of his hand. “These are my bodyguards. We have some trouble, and it is vital that we tell you.”

  “What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

  Lambert glanced around and muttered something to one of the goat-men. “Not here. We are in an open place, and there have been attacks as of late. Follow us.”

  He gestured to his truck and everyone piled in. One of his men took the wheel and rapidly drove to a small house on the outskirts of town. Surrounded by open field, it seemed like an outpost in the middle of nowhere.

  A rustic looking place made of wood and sparsely furnished, it contained only a few couches and chairs. Lambert spoke to his guards, one of whom promptly went outside. “My guard will watch over us,” he said as the other goat-man took up a position near the window.

  “We have been contacted by some members within the Vatican, chief among them Monsignor Morello,” Lambert began. He leaned over, elbows on his knees and a thoughtful look on his face. “You must understand, when the transgenics first came to us, we did not know how to handle them. Their needs are special and our attitudes were not so...” he deliberated for a time, “cordial.”

  “Cordial, as in jailing or shooting everyone,” stated Anastasia. A glint of something was in her eyes, and it was not friendly. “That’s how the Italians treated their own people. We just escaped from Rome. They hunted us down and shot your representative.”

  The message seemed to rock Lambert’s world, as he shot up to a ramrod stiff position and his mouth dropped open. “They killed Monsignor Morello?”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment, Lambert said nothing, and then he started to shake his head slowly, as if unable to process the news. Tears formed in his eyes. “He was a good man, committed to equality.” With a quivering hand, he wiped the water away. “This is terrible, and it makes our mission even more imperative.”

  “What can you tell us about Allenby?”

  Lambert’s face hardened. “We did not know of him at first, but after we found out, we realized what he is. He is a monster. He was the former head of a research company in the United States. He is after Istvan, we know that much.”

  At the news, Istvan, who hadn’t uttered a word thus far, shrank in his seat. “He wants my blood,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Lambert nodded. “From what we know, Allenby is convinced that using Istvan’s blood is the key.”

  “You mean the key to curing diseases,” Anastasia put in.

  “No.”

  Lambert arose and pointed at his guard. “He is seeking to transform others into hybrids, but not the way you think. He is trying to turn them more human... clone them, if you will.”

  With a shock, Harry recalled that both goat guards looked identical. “But why...”

  His voice died away, and Lambert offered a shrug. “For what reason, I do not know, but this man is the devil incarnate. I have never met him and do not wish to.”

  “I have,” the guard said at the window said. It was the first time he’d spoken, and his voice sounded like a rusty chainsaw. “I remember my name. It is Rene. This trash, this Allenby, he laughed after I woke up from the transformation. He said I was to be the new face of his movement, and that was all.

  “After that, he and his men threw me away like garbage. The man who is outside, he is my clone. I know that much.” Anger rose in his voice. “If I see Allenby again, I will do my best to kill him.”

  “We have to get to the airport.” Anastasia’s voice held a note of urgency in it. “If we leave now, we might be able to make our flight. We have to get Istvan out of here.”

  Lambert asked, “What time must you leave?”

  “Tuesday morning at eight-thirty.”

  “We cannot go now,” he said. “It is daylight, and there is a chance that if we are spotted in the daytime, someone may turn us in or try to kill us. We will leave tomorrow. Rest now and we will take you to the airport. You must be patient.”

  The plan seemed sound enough, and Istvan sighed when he heard Lambert make his promise. “I shall sleep now.”

  “There are cots, enough for everyone,” Lambert said. “Please get some rest.”

  Istvan didn’t bother to hit the steps. He curled up on the floor and soon passed out, and Leo joined him. Harry felt like a little luxury was in order, and after nodding his thanks, took Anastasia by the hand and mounted the steps. On the second floor, they found a room with two cots in it. They weren’t overly soft, but anything was better than a hard floor. “We both need to sleep,” Anastasia said. “We’ll be home soon.”

  “Good idea.”

  Harry pulled the cots together and she lay down. “I can’t wait to get back to the cabin,” Anastasia said.

  “Yeah, me too,” he answered, trying to make his voice sound convincing. She gave him a tired smile and soon passed out.

  He couldn’t sleep, though, and sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. Wondering exactly who this Allenby was, he sent a message to Jason. What exactly is Allenby like?

  As soon as he sent the message, he regretted it. Jason and Maze had to sleep, too. As their host had indicated, patience was in order, so he shut off the computer and sacked out beside his wife.

  What seemed to be only a few minutes later, Harry woke up with a start. A noise had startled him, and he realized it was coming from a branch scraping against the side of the window. Anastasia was still asleep, so he turned on his computer and found a message waiting. The clock indicated he’d been asleep for three hours.

  Jason’s message read this is basic info I got on Allenby.

  Harry read through it, and the more he read, the more afraid he became. The initial impression he’d gotten from Leo of Allenby as being a control freak was correct. Educated at private schools throughout his early life—his parents were multi-millionaires—he’d gotten top grades and shown a tremendous aptitude for science and biology at an early age.

  Allenby had grown up with a sense of entitlement, that peculiar disease affecting many who never had to work hard for their money. Thinking back to his childhood, Harry realized that although his father had held a position at a prestigious company, his upbringing had been strictly middle-class. He’d also been home-schooled, but had never thought himself above anyone else...

  A beep from the computer alerted him to a new message. Jason wrote I got something else. This is from a guy who was the former Parts and Acquisitions Director for ASR. Agent Farrell made a few calls and Overton followed up on them.

  The man’s name was Derry, Alan Derry, now a resident of Baltimore, Maryland. Once the company had been sold, he’d left and found a new position at a medical laboratory.

  He brought me to his house one day, Derry wrote. He lived in a mansion outside Los Angeles and had servants cater to him night and day.

  A picture popped up that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a magazine featuring royalty and their digs. A beautiful house resembling a castle more than a run of the mill abode stood on land the size of a football field. Swimming pools, marble statues and more dotted the precisely groomed grounds and flower beds. How could a guy like this fly under the radar?

  The answer came when Harry read mor
e details. After Allenby’s parents had died, he’d inherited everything. “It’s like giving the keys to a chocolate factory to an obese kid,” Harry muttered as he continued to read.

  When I worked for him, he expected everyone to follow his orders blindly and without exception wrote Derry.

  A question came from Overton. Did you ship parts to Europe?

  Yes. Most of them went to France and Spain. But there was a lot of stuff that went out and wasn’t put on the books. It’s all unaccounted for...

  Disgusted, Harry shut off the computer. Allenby was into ruling, plain and simple, with an almost fanatical attention to control and detail. Apparently, when the deal with the FBI had been called off, he’d trashed his office and fired everyone without paying them. He’d subsequently sold off his acquisitions and fled the country.

  “So he’s a control freak, clever and dangerous,” Harry muttered again, and then yawned. He lay down beside his wife. Right then and there, he vowed not to go home until Allenby was found and stopped. And that could take a long time.

  “Wake up.”

  Those two words stirred in Harry’s mind, and he turned over, hoping to feel the warmth of his wife’s body next to his. Instead, he felt the sheets of an empty cot. He sat up, senses at full alert, and only relaxed when he saw his wife’s yellow eyes staring at him in the darkened room. “What time is it?”

  “Past ten,” she answered with a faint smile. “You’ve been asleep all day. I just got word from one of the guards. It’s time to go.”

  They made their way downstairs, and found Lambert at the door, a look of worry on his face. “You were sleeping for a long time. Your friends are in the van. We have enough gasoline to get us to the airport. We know where you wish to go.”

  Outside, the evening air was pleasant and warm, but immediately Harry got a feeling something wasn’t right. The feeling that something was out there made the hair on the nape of his neck prickle, but if there was a chance of getting out of there on time, he had to take it, not just for him, but for his wife and Istvan as well.

  As they got underway, Harry asked why there wasn’t more cooperation between their governments. “I do not know,” Lambert answered. “Our government says this is an internal matter. I think it is a foolish decision. If there is to be peace among all, then all must cooperate.”

  It was a most noble sentiment, but doubtful anyone would listen. Lambert continued relating the troubles. “When the transgenics first surfaced here, only a few objected. They were treated with looks of curiosity, but not disdain. It was only after more came that the curiosity turned to hatred.”

  Reflecting on the very human trait of people not being able to understand the different, the other, Harry recalled the lynch mobs in New York. People were people no matter which country. They feared change, feared something other than the norm. It was human nature, and Lambert’s next words underscored his thoughts.

  “The hate groups started soon after I was appointed by the Ministry of the Interior as a representative. I tried to reason with them, but they would not listen. There are many officials in the police department who have also turned a blind eye.”

  He offered a heavy sigh. “I can only do what I can. As for the members of society—and by that, I mean humans—they often attack at night, but their vision is limited. Even when they have flashlights and night vision goggles, the transgenics are generally able to avoid them. However, I am more concerned with the transgenics who have been created by Allenby and who have sided with him.”

  It seemed legitimate. They continued on their way, but as they rounded a turn on a road, Harry’s hypersensitive ears picked up the click of impending death. “Get down!” he cried.

  Lambert immediately swerved to the side just as a hail of bullets whizzed overhead. The van veered madly off the road and crashed into a ditch. Harry got out of the passenger side, ran to the rear of the van, and wrenched the door open. Anastasia staggered out, holding onto Leo and Istvan.

  “Time to sprawl,” he said and hauled them to the hard ground.

  Leo also took the hint and scampered off to hide in some bushes. A millisecond later the sound of machine guns opening up split the night. Both guards had gotten out the van, but though they were armed, they died in the first round of shooting. Lambert managed to extricate himself from the van, but a single shot came from nowhere and he fell to the ground without a single cry of protest.

  Abruptly, silence descended, and only the smell of gunpowder, overheated metal, and blood filled the air. A voice, one with a flat mid-Western accent, called out, “We’ve stopped firing. Put your hands up and get on your feet. You’re surrounded, and I don’t want to kill you.”

  Doing as the voice ordered, Harry got to his feet. Anastasia began to growl, and Istvan did what he did best. He hid behind Anastasia’s legs. A man emerged from out of the darkness and walked over flanked by five other hybrids. The men looked identical to one another, very similar, in fact, to Lambert, but with vaguely insectoid features.

  As for Allenby, he looked just like his picture on the Internet—short, stocky, and with a shock of blond hair over a pasty face and a port wine stain that lit up the night. He glanced at the corpse of Lambert, shook his head, and then turned around, wearing a pleasant smile. “My name is Horace Allenby. I assume you’ve heard of me?”

  “Go to hell,” Anastasia hissed.

  “Politeness, young lady, is something I always stress,” he replied, and snapped his fingers.

  Harry felt something hard crash down on his head. Stars flashed across his field of view, and out of the corner of his eye, saw his wife and Istvan falling to the ground. Then the darkness took over.

  Chapter Seven: Face to Face

  Harry awoke with a start and immediately let out a groan. Waking up involved a splitting headache, nausea, and a feeling of helpless rage. How long had he been out? He had no idea, but looking around, he found himself in a small room, lying on a cot. No window, but a small opening the size of a ping-pong ball in the concrete wall allowed the moonlight to stream in.

  Turning around to squint through the eyelet, he estimated it was around one in the morning. His wife lay on another cot across from him. Staggering to his feet, he went over and gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

  She stirred, moaned, and then got off the cot to fall to her knees and heave. “Stupid morning sickness,” she muttered once she’d dumped her guts. “I just hope the rest of my pregnancy isn’t this bad.”

  Grim humor, but Harry did find it funny in a warped way. “Let’s hope it doesn’t last too long,” he replied as he helped her into a sitting position on the cot.

  He tried the door, but it had been securely locked, and even after extending his claws and slashing against the hard wood, he got nowhere. They were locked in. “So, is this the part where he comes in to tell us of his master plan?”

  Anastasia’s question was expected. “He’s creating clones,” Harry answered. “But why is he mixing animal DNA in with the human cells? It doesn’t make sense.”

  He sat alongside her and she rested her chin in her hands, as if musing on the hows and whys. “Let’s figure this out. He’s turning people into animals by using the Genesis Chambers. How did he get his hands on them?”

  Thinking about it, it was possible Allenby had learned of the technology before the FBI had severed ties with his company. And Derry had mentioned that many shipments had been off the books. It was possible, but still...

  “How he got them doesn’t matter so much,” Harry replied. “What purpose could he have for...”

  His voice trailed off as a thought, ridiculous as it sounded, knifed through his head and temporarily overrode his headache. “If he’s got clones, then how would it help him, unless he wants to replace someone?”

  Anastasia immediately got the idea. “Replace... as in replace someone high up?”

  High up meant in the government or the military or both. This plan, if it could be brought off, was no
t only audacious and ambitious, it was also highly possible. The clones would be identical to the government officials, while the transgenics would serve as guards or an occupying army. It didn’t seem possible, yet...

  The sound of footsteps caused Harry to stop thinking about the what-ifs. He had to focus on the here and now. He had no idea where Istvan was, and Leo had gone missing. Wondering whether or not the approaching footsteps signaled temporary freedom or his doom, he held his wife’s hand and prayed for the former.

  With a sudden rush, the door opened, and two men with feelers on their heads and faces like cockroaches—round, brown, and horribly ugly—strode in. Both of them held machine guns, and the way they held them, barrels up, indicated their willingness to use them. “Come with us. Our master wishes to speak to you.”

  One of them grabbed Harry’s arm while the other reached for Anastasia. “Touch me,” she warned as her claws sprang out, “and you’ll never touch anything else again. I’ll go.”

  The guard smirked and gestured to her with his gun. They went outside and upstairs to a small room, where Allenby sat on an overstuffed couch with a small table in front of him. He wore an elegantly tailored gray silk suit with a napkin tucked into his collar. A full-course meal, one of steak and various kinds of fowl, sat in front of him, and he quickly though delicately ate, making sounds of delight. All the while, he took no notice of anyone.

  Harry waited, attempting to keep his disgust down to a minimum. This jerk fancied himself as a king and treated everyone else as his personal slaves. Anastasia’s face wore a look of supreme loathing,

  Finally, once done, Allenby patted his mouth with the napkin, placed it on the remaining plate, and ordered his servant to clear the table. The mutant, a four-limbed zebra type, did so without a word.

  Allenby then dismissed him and reached for a glass of red wine. He sipped his own serving at leisure before waving his hand at two chairs, and said in a most courteous tone, “That was a most delightful meal. I’m happy you could make it. Please, sit down.”