The Bleiberg Project (Consortium Thriller)

by David Khara

  Put a bullet between our eyes, dammit! For pity’s sake, I don’t want to wind up a guinea pig for a modern-day Frankenstein.

  “As for why the operation is taking place now, there are two answers. First, it took me fifty years of hard work under the radar to develop a serum that could be produced in industrial quantities. Second, seven billion humans now sully the planet. Nine billion by 2050. Before the end of the year, we will reduce that to two or three billion at the most. Humanity will have taken a crucial step in its evolution. The survivors will form one single race. Unemployment and poverty will be eradicated. Nutrition and environmental issues will be solved in one fell swoop. What can I say, Mr. Corbin? I’m an incurable ecologist.”

  He’s not even joking. The guy totally believes what he’s saying. Billions of innocents will die to satisfy the megalomania of a madman.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll move onto my final experiment with my favorite guinea pig,” Bleiberg says, turning to his guards. “Show them into the waiting room.”

  Seeing the evil smiles of the four assholes, I fear the worst.

  Before she is ushered out, followed by two chaperones, Jackie raises her hands in the air and yells to Eytan, “2003!” She gets a whack in the back for her trouble but ignores it.

  2003. Fat lot of good that does us.

  The two men shoved Eytan toward a bed.

  “My child, I assume you haven’t forgotten the pain that is inherent to the mutation process. You are going to help me once more in my research. I’ve no idea what might happen when the mutagen is injected into a subject treated with my original formula. Thanks to you, I’m going to find out.”

  The so-called doctor took a plastic-wrapped syringe out of his white coat and headed toward the beds. Eytan struggled to break free. His head was buzzing. Panic was clouding his brain. Not this. Not again. He recalled the incessant jabs, the ensuing convulsions, the debilitating pain. And the fear that filled his cell with every new day that dawned.

  One day, he was so terrified he wet himself. Beside himself with anger, Bleiberg had him hosed down to teach him good manners. The SS guards laughed at the naked child as he clumsily tried to protect himself from the icy water. Then they dragged him into the laboratory by his arms, hammering his back every time he screamed. Eytan learned very young that crying out offers no protection. That morning, on Heinrich Himmler’s orders, an official in a black uniform came to take pictures of the doctor and his guinea pig. At the precise moment the flashbulb popped, facing these soulless, compassionless, loveless monsters, Eytan discovered the power of his anger.

  One way or another, sooner or later, without a second glance, without remorse, he would kill them all.

  I don’t dare to imagine what the waiting room looks like. Two clowns lead us down the drab, empty hallways of the complex. It’s Saturday morning, and apparently even the bad guys give their staff the weekend off.

  Jackie looks astonishingly laid back. I’ve no idea what she’s got in mind, but I’d welcome any initiative with the great pleasure. We’ve reached the waiting room and, judging by the symbol on the gray double doors, it doubles as the crusher.

  A card is swiped across a scanner, and the room opens up to us. The doors are not only thick, but also efficiently soundproofed. A deafening wall of sound hits us. Two huge cylinders spin side by side in a pit wide and deep enough to hold an automobile. Thankfully, a safety barrier surrounds the machine. The grinders spin slowly, but their mechanized teeth are frighteningly large. All in all, an injection seems preferable right now.

  The goons start heading out. They may be locking us in, but at least they haven’t killed us. Suddenly, Jackie slams her handcuffed wrists against the wall. Before I finish saying to myself that she’s lost it, the cuffs spring open.

  She lunges at one of the goons and drives the open cuff into his carotid. He collapses, grasping his throat. In a flash, Buffy grabs his head and twists sharply, snapping his neck.

  As the other goon moves to grab her, Jackie jabs her makeshift weapon into his face. He lets out an excruciating scream and blood spurts from his face. She’s poked his eye out. Gross!

  Jackie finishes him off in exactly the same way as his buddy. She comes over, grabs my wrists and rams them against the wall. The handcuffs fall to the floor. I can’t believe it.

  “French model. Stamped Manurhin 2003. Defective. The laughing stock of the small-arms world. Grab a gun.” I do so. Jackie takes the other guy’s gun and his security card. I feel like kissing her, and something tells me she wouldn’t protest, but for now we sprint back toward the laboratory.

  The guards forced Eytan to sit down. Overwhelmed by painful memories, he didn’t have the strength to resist. This place was nothing like the laboratory where he underwent such torture over sixty years earlier. The room was chillingly modern. The floors and walls were covered with a gray industrial paint. The three beds on either side and the medical equipment made it look like the emergency room of a hospital, an impression reinforced by the paleness of the artificial light. How many “patients” had Bleiberg tortured in here?

  Relieved that the monster they had been warned about appeared totally impotent, the guards relaxed for a moment. A half-second too long. Eytan banged his cuffed hands down on the cart carrying the monitoring equipment. Jackie was right. But with one busted shoulder, fighting two fully fit men and an armed woman held no appeal. Eytan needed a bargaining chip.

  Before the guards could react, Eytan jumped onto the bed, bounced once and leapt feet first at Bleiberg. Instead of hitting him, Eytan wrapped his calves around his dumbstruck target’s head. They crashed onto the floor. Despite the old man frantically lashing out, Eytan wasn’t about to loosen his hold.

  Elena sized up the situation with disconcerting serenity. On his back, arms and legs thrashing ineffectually, the professor briefly reminded her of a turtle lying helpless on its back. “Get out, and stand guard by the door,” she ordered the two guards. “I have to negotiate with Mr. Morg.”

  They glanced at each other in surprise but gave in to the woman’s authority. When they had left, Elena walked toward Eytan and Bleiberg.

  “Don’t worry, Professor. I’m here.”

  Despite the fatigue cramping his muscles, Eytan tightened his hold. His successful maneuver had won him a hostage, but the sudden jarring movements had accelerated his loss of blood. A more experienced opponent than Bleiberg would have broken free. The temptation to get it over with, to break the monster’s neck once and for all, was overwhelming. But in Eytan’s diminished state, a hostage would be crucial.

  A few paces from the incongruous couple entwined on the floor, Elena began to applaud. “Agent Morg has lived up to his flattering reputation. What daring, what brilliance. All with one shoulder out of commission.”

  “Stop there.” Eytan’s command lacked assurance, but Elena obeyed, holding her arms wide as a sign of nonaggression.

  “OK, look, I’ve stopped. Tell me, Eytan, I’m curious to know what you hope to achieve, exactly. Save your friends or force me to destroy the facility in order to sabotage our plans? If that’s the case, I fear your hopes will be dashed. You can no longer stop the Project.”

  She drew her gun and pointed it at the two men. Bleiberg tried to speak, but the windpipe, compressed by his creation’s powerful thighs, emitted only gurgling and hissing sounds.

  Elena’s dark eyes locked onto Eytan’s. “You’ve been fighting unworthy opponents for too long now, my friend. The ability to make decisions and act on them without being inhibited by moral standards decreed by cowards is no longer considered an asset these days. Now people trade off. Compromise is the golden rule. Force is stigmatized. Once upon a time, you knew the real meaning of power. But over the years, an insidious evil has possessed you—compassion.”

  She leveled her gun at Eytan. Then suddenly lowered her hand a fraction. Two gunshots later, Professor Bleiberg breathed his last, his heart and head pierced by two perfectly aimed bullets. T
he Israeli agent had released his hold and rolled away just before Elena opened fire.

  “That’s the hostage variable eliminated from the equation. Now everything is much simpler. Stand up. And don’t pull the cripple trick. You don’t need any help.”

  His legs as stiff as tree trunks, Eytan struggled to his feet and stood as upright as his strength would allow. He glared at his enemy. In her eyes, he saw the end of a journey that he had been forced to begin sixty-eight years earlier.

  FINAL CHAPTER

  One gunshot rang out. Eytan fell back as the bullet perforated his right thigh. Flat on his back, he tried to push himself up with his left arm. Muscles straining, he made it halfway, but the pain was too intense.

  He slumped back down.

  Elena Kourilyenko walked over languidly, savoring the grimace disfiguring the giant’s face. “I have dreamed of killing you for so long, brother. You can’t imagine the honor you do me. Eytan Morg is a legend in our organization. Our messiah has a name: Subject 302. Your exceptional talents have made our greatest projects possible. They made me possible, too. I see surprise in your eyes. Don’t you understand? You showed the way, but somebody had to follow.”

  She raised her sleeve, revealing a blue-ink tattoo on her forearm: 985. “They modified you?” Eytan mumbled between gasps for breath.

  The young woman stood over him, gun aimed between his eyes. “Modified, no. Perfected! I volunteered, brother. I knew the risks and rewards of the experiment. And I had faith.”

  “You’re mad.” Eytan’s eyes were filled with profound and genuine distress.

  “No. Far from it. You and I represent the greatest leap forward in the evolution of our species. We guide humanity toward the next stage of its existence. I would have liked walking alongside you, but you are so weak. I cannot establish a new order by glorifying weakness. You understand, I hope.”

  “I understand that it’s crucial to stop you and destroy all traces of the Bleiberg Project.”

  Elena hunkered down, pressing her knee on his wounded thigh. Eytan screamed as his blood began to pump out.

  “The only trace that will be destroyed is your colossally failed existence. We could have achieved so much if you hadn’t turned against your masters.”

  She pressed the muzzle of her gun against his sweating brow. Eytan’s features relaxed. A smile spread across his face. He burst out laughing. His demented cackle echoed around the laboratory, surprising and irritating his assassin. She pressed harder on his thigh.

  A slender finger pulled the trigger. The fatal shot was fired…

  Jackie and I sprint breathlessly down the deserted hallways. We could have escaped—anybody with any sense would have gotten the hell out of there. But without a word or a moment’s hesitation, we head straight for the laboratory. These sickos may have killed Eytan already, but if we have even the slightest chance of rescuing him, we have to give it a try.

  We reach the final intersection, turn right and nearly collide with two guards standing outside the double doors. Before anybody can draw a gun, a knock-’em-down, drag-’em-out battle ensues.

  I’m no fighter, but I don’t like taking shit without giving any back. The guy’s well trained. I dodge or parry his kicks with my forearms. Each block hurts more than the last. He forces me back step by step, with no chance to counter. Given our size difference, I must have twenty-five pounds on him. If I can just connect, I’ll send him flying. But he keeps coming relentlessly. I’m dripping in sweat. It trickles down my face. My shirt sticks to my skin. With my luck, I’m going to die of dehydration.

  I won’t give up. I won’t give in. I thought the fight went out of me months ago, after I killed that infant. I abandoned my mother and disappointed Bernard. But I won’t let Eytan down. C’mon, you bastard, give me all you got. I deserve it.

  My back hits the wall. A flurry of punches rains down on me. I protect myself as best I can. A jab to the ribs drops me to my knees. I gasp for breath. The guy steps in to finish it off. He grabs me. I see his feet in front of me, wide apart, and seize my opportunity. I lunge forward and grasp and twist his balls. He screams and lets go of me. I squeeze as hard as I can, with every ounce of my anger. His mouth is wide open, no sound coming out and no air going in. I’m enjoying this. I give him an extra twist and watch his reaction.

  His expression is pathetic, ridiculous, lips puckered, eyes bulging. I push with my legs as hard as I can. He topples backward, but I go with him, refusing to let go. I crawl over his body and smash my fists into him. All I can hear are my grunts and his groans. I would have liked hearing him scream, begging me to spare his life, but he’s in no state to give me that gratification. I batter him until my fists are numb. All I can feel is indescribable pleasure. In the depths of my brain, I hear a sound repeating itself over and over, getting louder. My name. Jackie…

  I spin round. Buffy’s in trouble. I don’t know how it happened, but the guy’s behind her, clutching her neck with his left hand. The douchebag’s ramming her head against the wall. Her face is covered in blood, her legs are wilting. He’s gonna kill her. I jump up as fast as I can.

  No time to think. I sprint and dive at him from behind. Years of college gridiron come flooding back as I hit him with a perfect tackle, crunching into his kidneys. Caught by surprise, he smashes headfirst into the wall. The sound of bones snapping leaves no doubt about it—nose and jaw are broken outright. I find myself slumped over the unconscious scumbag. Jackie collapses next to me. She has a cut over her eye and bruised cheeks and lips. She’s spent. With one trembling hand, she passes me the swipe card, stammering, “I’m fine. Go! He needs you!” Eytan…

  I draw my gun, but it’s purely psychological—I’ve never used one in my life. I swipe the scanner by the door and enter. Bleiberg’s body lies in a pool of blood. Elena isn’t far away, squatting over my buddy, a gun pointed at his head. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream. The redhead hasn’t noticed my entrance. I creep forward. Payback time.

  Eytan felt the bullet graze his temple. The gun dropped to the floor, and Elena’s mouth pressed against his ear as her full weight crashed down on him. She let out little high-pitched squeals, then straightened up abruptly.

  Her hands scrabbled at Jeremy’s forearm as he gripped her neck in a viselike stranglehold, pulling back with all his strength, cursing and spitting out his hatred of the woman. The force of his hold bruised her flesh, which went from pink to crimson to purple. One more tiny effort and her spine would snap in two.

  The bitch hasn’t heard me approaching. Tough shit. I get a good firm grip, strangling her with my one arm and ramming a knee into her back. As I pull back with all my might, she has no chance of escape. And I’m savoring her groans. Despite the effort, I grin maniacally. You killed my mother and Bernard, and I bet you took care of my father. Three excellent reasons to snuff you out, like Eytan would, without a hint of remorse.

  I feel her resistance weakening. All I have to do is keep pressing with all my strength to snap her in two in cold blood. And become like them, like her. But I’ve already killed. By my own stupid recklessness. By killing her, I will take another irrevocable step and abandon all hope of ever finding peace one day. The infant girl would become merely the first victim in the process of my degeneration. So, no, I won’t kill Elena.

  I’ll let others dispense justice or play God.

  Jeremy released his hold and backed up. Gasping for breath and coughing, Elena fell to the floor, her hands clasping her inflamed neck. Eytan grabbed her gun and the hand Jeremy held out to pull him up. Trying to find the least painful position, the giant leaned heavily on the young guy’s muscular shoulder.

  Jeremy’s expression was serene. Eytan saw a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes.

  “You did right. She’s not worth dirtying your hands. Killing her wouldn’t relieve your pain, but it would take away any chance of getting a normal life back. You’re not a killer, Jeremy.”

  The trader’s eyes flitted from Eytan to Elena. “I know
that now.”

  The redhead spoke up. “You are a killer, Morg. We made you. Your fine words won’t change that. You are Subject 30…”

  Before she could finish, a kick in the face from Eytan knocked her out cold. “I am not the product of an experiment. I belong to nobody but myself. Bleiberg could change people’s bodies, not their minds. Nobody dictates what I do. I am the captain of my soul.”

  He turned to Jeremy. They gazed at the professor and the hit woman, stretched out side by side. “Do you understand now why I do this job? I give the victims the justice they deserve.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to protect them before they become victims?

  Eytan looked down and took a deep breath. “For that to happen, man would have to stop being a wolf. Meantime, I decimate the pack.”

  The giant glanced toward Jackie, who was propped against the lab’s double doors. Her face bore the scars of combat, but the spectacular wounds would heal without a trace. The petite blonde observed the scene in silence. She stared at Eytan and hobbled toward them. When she reached Jeremy, who couldn’t take his eyes off Elena Kourilyenko, she murmured, “Jeremy, it’s time to go.”

  The trader glanced at his companions. Smiled. “Too right. I’ve had more than enough of this. For a ragtag bunch, we didn’t do too bad. What happens next?” His wry grin faded when he saw their serious expressions. “What’s wrong?”

  Looking him straight in the eye, Eytan replied, “The Bleiberg Project must end here and now. This facility must disappear.”

  “Of course!”

  “Along with everything that has anything to do with that psychopath.” Eytan nodded toward Elena, still out cold on the floor.

  Jeremy was about to nod but stopped as he realized the true meaning of Eytan’s words. Blind panic washed over his face. “No, Eytan! You don’t have to do that. Let’s blow up the lab and the whole complex, then we can go home. Please, quit fooling around.”