Bartok came in long enough to see that the prisoner was out He informed them that he’d get more food and left the morgue just long enough to shuttle back and forth between his downtown office and the supermarket.
For the rest of the time, Harry did his analysis and worked on ideas. He only took a quick ten-minute break here and there to stretch out.
Finally, by nightfall, the results came in and he’d found what he was looking for. He sent the information to his own computer in an email file as a precaution. Next, he put the vial of blood into a small storage unit he’d found in the morgue. It would keep the blood from decaying. He might need it.
That job done, he called everyone into the meeting room. They clustered around the computer. Pointing at the screen, he laid out what he knew. “This is your blood and DNA analysis, Istvan. From what I can figure out, you have long telomeres, almost three times as long as a normal person’s. Added to that, your T-cell count is almost off the charts.”
Istvan stared at the profile, bewilderment written all over his face. “I do not understand. What does this mean?”
“It means that you’re going to live a very long time and you can’t contract cancer, leukemia or any other disease.”
In spite of the pain he had to be feeling, Farrell let out a long, low whistle. “That’s why Szabo or Kulakov or whoever wants him.”
Harry sat down and punched in some numbers. “There’s something here that I don’t get. The enhancement we went through,” he pointed to Anastasia and Istvan, “improved our immune systems, but not this much, unless...”
“Unless what?” Anastasia prodded.
Harry remained silent, turning over the implications in his mind. It couldn’t be true, but apparently, it was. Computers didn’t lie. Whether Istvan knew it or not, he was the one-in-a-million genetic link that every scientist and researcher in the world had been searching for. He was the key, the final link to semi-immortality.
A tap on his shoulder brought Harry back to Earth. He turned around and found Anastasia staring at him, puzzlement in her eyes. “You’re thinking of something.” It came out as a statement and not a question.
“Changing Istvan wasn’t necessary,” he answered, feeling bad about what he had to say. “He’s a genetic freak.”
Istvan started at the word freak. “What do you tell me?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” answered Harry and as a way of reassuring Istvan, he pitched his tone low. “It’s a good meaning in this case. Some people are born strong. Others are born fast or with high IQ’s or something else. In your case, your blood carries the cure for almost every disease out there. Your DNA is practically bulletproof. You’ll live a long time, maybe four hundred years, if this readout is correct.”
Istvan’s eyes grew round. “But... I don’t understand. If my blood is so strong, then why did Grushenko change me?” Tears began to leak from his eyes. “I was small before, but I was normal. I would live long life. Why did he change me?” he shouted and ran from the room.
Farrell spoke up, his face softened with perhaps the realization that another monstrous plan was at work. “Do you know why, Harry?”
Harry felt a wave of pity for the little guy. “I’m not sure. I, uh, I’ll go and check on him. Give me a couple of minutes.”
Outside, he found Istvan huddled near the stairwell. Sitting down beside him, he gave the pig-man a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Istvan didn’t answer. He shied away at the touch at first. When he turned around, with no surprise at all, Harry noticed that the transformation from semi-human to porcine form seemed to be happening even faster. His ears were floppier, his body had become more rotund and at the bottom of his spine, a bulge appeared. Even through the uniform, Harry knew what it was. It was a pig’s curlicue tail.
However, the change wasn’t of prime importance now. Istvan’s mood was, and he shook so violently that he seemed ready to crack apart. “I knew nothing,” he sobbed out. “I was university student. I had normal life. I was small, but I accepted that. My parents always say to me, it is not size of person’s body but their brain and their heart. I always have confidence in me and think that some girl will like me someday for who I am.”
He glanced at his hands and his voice came out in a tormented wail. “I am not a person any longer. Who will like me now?”
Unsure of what to say at first, Harry thought back to his former life. A quiet, shy and sort of nerdy kid, he’d been in more or less the same position once. That hadn’t been so long ago, either. Being nerdy was bad enough, but he’d also been small and weak as a kid and he’d been picked on, big-time. “Listen, I also got smacked around for being a punk,” he said, trying to phrase things simply. “I know what it’s like not to be accepted. It wasn’t fun.”
Istvan turned to him with a tear-stained face. “But you are not that way now,” he said. “You are special.”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t think I’m special. I’m just me. This,” he pointed at his body and extended his claws, “this happened only recently.”
Istvan stared at the claws. “Before you change, did your mother and father care for you?”
Harry fell silent then, thinking about how much had changed in such a short time. Before his transformation, he’d been nobody. He had only his mind to rely on, that and his parents. They had died when he was eighteen, almost a year ago now. He remembered going to the funerals—he hadn’t cried at first. Only later on had the tears come. Loneliness was a terrible thing, but his plight couldn’t be compared to Istvan’s. A wave of pity went through him and he vowed to help Istvan if he could.
“Yeah, they cared for me. I was lucky.” He searched for the proper words. “Listen,” he finally said and retracted his claws. “We’re going to find out where Szabo is. If he’s not the one running the show, then we’ll find this Kulakov guy or whoever’s in charge. They have a chamber, a transformation chamber. I may be able to change you back.”
It sounded great on the surface, but it all depended on the program he had running back in the States. It might work on Istvan, but it also might kill him. It had worked with Anastasia, but she’d been in cat form at the time. He hadn’t succeeded in bringing her back to fully human form. As it turned out, he was now like her and was still on the shelf about his transformation.
He snapped back to reality. Istvan’s sobs had stopped and he was staring at the wall. “You will do that for me?” he asked.
“I’ll try.”
A tremendous crash sounded from the other room. It sounded like the entire wall had been caved in. Bartok came out holding his pistol, joined by Farrell. “Come on,” the latter man cried. “We have a visitor.”
Together they rushed into the holding room. Harry’s guess was correct. The wall had been obliterated and Martuska was gone. The only evidence of her former presence was the leather straps on the bed. They’d been torn clean through. A message in Hungarian had been slashed into the wall above the bed. “He was here,” Istvan whispered.
“What does the message say?” Farrell wanted to know.
Bartok’s face wore a troubled look. “It says that the hunter has come back to claim his prize and that he will not forget this.”
“His prize,” Anastasia echoed. “What does that mean?” She turned around. “Well, is anyone going to answer me?”
Istvan swallowed and he stumbled out a reply in a hoarse whisper. “It is the name. Martuska means mistress in Hungarian. Szabo and Martuska are together, like you and Harry are together. He will continue to hunt for us.”
They spent a sleepless night at the morgue. Although Farrell and Bartok still had to be in a lot of pain, neither of them took any painkillers. “I have to stay sharp,” Farrell said and he went off to stand guard along with his counterpart.
The sound of their shoes clicking on the tiled floor became regular. Both men walked, stopped and retraced their steps in almost military-like precision. Harry fought to
shut out the sound of clicking shoes and kept listening for anything unusual.
Finally, Anastasia suggested in a drowsy voice, “Let’s get some sleep. You need it and I do, too.” In a graceful, feline movement, she tucked her legs underneath her body as she curled up. Soon, she fell asleep and Harry heard her quiet breathing.
Harry couldn’t sleep, though. His mind wouldn’t let him. The sounds of the night—the crickets and the night animals foraging for food—should have given him some comfort, but he found none. Finally, exhausted from the stress, he passed out beside his girlfriend.
Waking up early the next morning, he found Anastasia still asleep. He tiptoed out of the room and found both older men still on guard, bleary-eyed and unshaven. Bartok had an overflowing ashtray perched on the windowsill and reeked of tobacco, but nodded a friendly greeting when Harry approached.
“Nothing of note,” Farrell said as if anticipating the question. “Excuse me. I have to make a call.”
Striding down the hallway, he spoke into his cellphone. Enhanced hearing notwithstanding, Harry couldn’t catch any of the conversation. Two minutes later, the agent came back and tapped Bartok on the shoulder. “We’re ready to go.”
Before they left, Harry took the storage unit with Istvan’s blood with him. He’d keep it on ice back in the States. Bartok drove them to the airport. Once again, the hangar was empty save for the private jet and FBI pilot. “I am sorry that I could not be of more help,” he said as they waited in front of the plane. “This is something that we are not prepared to fight. We cannot protect Istvan here. If it is in your power to do so, we will be grateful.”
He spoke to the little man privately, placing both arms on his shoulders and speaking in a quiet voice. Istvan nodded, and once the conversation was over, he hustled inside the airplane. Bartok and Farrell shook hands. “We will continue to coordinate our efforts from here,” Bartok said.
“Talk to you soon, Anton,” Farrell said.
Goodbyes over, they took off and onboard, the pilot said that they’d making a stopover in Iceland before going onto New York. He went forward and the three of them discussed what to do. Istvan curled up on a seat ahead of them and promptly fell asleep.
Looking at the sleeping pig-man, Harry wondered if anyone would really be able to protect him. He’d seen how Szabo worked, and a shaft of fear went through him. He’d faced monsters before. He’d taken them on and beaten them... but now...
“What’s wrong, Harry?” Anastasia asked, touching his shoulder and breaking his spell.
Embarrassed, he shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured and leaned against him. “I was scared, too. Don’t think I wasn’t.”
It was too difficult to tell her, but she already knew. He didn’t want anyone to think him a coward, but he’d frozen twice, and that could have cost someone their life. “You have to do what you want in order to protect what’s yours,” she said, not looking at him. “You can’t afford to be afraid. We can’t, okay?”
Her manner of speaking, short and direct, hit home. “Yeah, I got it.” Thinking about it, though, he realized that he was in way over his head. If he couldn’t stop Szabo and if others were out there with powers beyond what the FBI had...
He didn’t want to think about it. “So what do we do?” he finally asked.
Anastasia pulled away from him. “I know what you’ll have to do. You do, too. As for Martuska, if I see her again, she’s going to get some payback. I owe her for trying to claw my face off.”
“Let’s table that for another day,” said Farrell in a raw and angry voice. He shifted his body to a more comfortable position. “Our main priority is to protect our porcine friend and both of you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“We’re already hurt,” Anastasia pointed out. “At least, I am, and so are you.” She suddenly smiled. “Are you that concerned about us, Agent Farrell?”
His face turned a violent red. “I’m, uh, just protecting our national interests and that of American citizens,” he said stiffly in an attempt to regain his composure. “Once we’re home, we’ll see what your computer whiz-kid friends have come up with. If we can, we’re going to put Szabo and his killer buddy out of business.”
Battle plan on the table, he slumped back in his seat and closed his eyes. Anastasia whispered that she was going to take a nap as well. Soon the sounds of snoring filled the cabin.
However, Harry couldn’t sleep. He was too busy thinking about what the endgame in all of this was. While he felt some reassurance after checking that Istvan’s blood sample was safe, it was a short-lived feeling. Szabo and the others were still out there. It seemed as though they knew every place that the FBI knew about and they would find them. They knew where they lived, where they worked, and there didn’t seem any way that they could avoid a confrontation. In this case, it would be a fatal one.
Chapter Seven: Misdirection
Once they got back to LaGuardia Airport, Farrell walked over to a small, nondescript brown car that sat in the private hangar. A man in black, wearing the usual dark glasses, sat at the wheel. When he spotted Farrell, he started the engine. “It’s an agency car,” Farrell said. “Get in.”
“It’s a heap, but maybe that’s a step up from the car you usually drive,” Anastasia observed with a wry grin.
With tightened lips, Farrell explained the need for privacy. “The fewer people who know about this, the better,” he said. “I’m trying to keep the circle as small as possible.”
His response earned him a sniff from Anastasia. Clearly, she didn’t approve. Privately, Harry didn’t either, but shutting down his misgivings, he got in along with his two companions and they drove off. “Are we going back to Manhattan?” Harry asked.
“No, we’re going somewhere else,” the answer came from the front seat. No further details came, so the trip passed in silence. There were times to ask and times to wait. This was a case of the latter.
Harry peeked at the clock on the dashboard. It read almost six at night, and dusk was falling fast. A pleasantly warm wind drifted in through the open window, but Farrell ordered it shut. “We don’t need anyone to see this,” he said.
Once again, his reply earned him a heavy snort of displeasure from Anastasia, but she kept her mouth closed. Istvan remained silent, and with no one to back him up, Harry reluctantly shut the window. They interrupted their journey only once to stop for gas at a roadside stand. “Stay here,” Farrell ordered. He went inside and brought back sandwiches for everyone.
After eating, the driver set off again down the highway. Night continued to fall and the city gradually gave way to country. Harry figured that they were still in the state of New York, but had absolutely no idea of where they were going.
The journey continued and roughly an hour later, the driver took an off-ramp. Fifteen minutes later, he turned down a bumpy road and pulled up in front of a plain-looking white farmhouse. Killing the engine, he announced, “This is it.”
“Where are we?” Harry asked.
Farrell turned around in his seat. “Welcome to Herkimer, New York,” he said. “We’re south of Utica. It’s a small farming community. This property went into receivership a while back, and the FBI bought it. It serves as a safe house. Get out and I’ll show you around.”
They exited the car and surveyed the surroundings. It was dark, perhaps eight-thirty at night, but lights had been strung up at strategic points around the grounds in order to provide maximum lighting and security. In front of them was a forest that surrounded the area. That was it. There was nothing else.
“It’s pretty quiet up here,” opined Anastasia as she tested the air with her nose. “You get many visitors?”
Farrell offered a short laugh. “This is around thirty-two square miles of farming community,” he explained. “The place is pretty far away from everything. Mirror Lake is about five miles north of here.” He pointed with his index finger and then jerked his thumb to the right. �
�The Mohawk River is that way. If any civilians want to drive up here, they have to take an alternate route. We’ve got it cordoned off.”
The cordoning off idea hadn’t worked very well in the Catskills. Sniffing the air along with his girlfriend, Harry got no bad vibes. He turned to Anastasia. “My nose isn’t as sharp as yours is. You smell anything bad?”
She shook her head. “Besides some of the pollen in the air, I smell a few rabbits, some mice and a skunk. That’s about it.”
Istvan gazed around the area with wonder. “This is where we stay?”
“For now it is,” Farrell affirmed, squinting in the dark and checking the surroundings. “Let’s go inside. I’ve got six men on patrol. Your friends are waiting.”
Inside the farmhouse, Harry expected to see bunk beds and not much else. He was surprised to find it similar in accoutrements to the cabin where he and Anastasia had been staying. Two large desktops sat on an enormous table in the center of the downstairs. Off to his right, he spotted a kitchen. To his left sat a few couches grouped around a television set. Next to the lounge area was a set of stairs.
Taking the sample of blood, he carefully placed it in the fridge. Farrell came over to check on it. “You’ll need this,” Harry said. “Keep it safe.”
Farrell nodded. “Thanks. Your rooms are upstairs,” he said, pointing the way. “Let’s see if our experts found anything. Guys,” he yelled out, “come on down!”
Jason and Tina appeared at the top of the stairs holding hands and giggling. “Hey, nice to see you again,” Jason called down.
He and Tina descended the steps, still laughing. At the bottom, he said, “We were just taking a break, gaming on the newest console we’ve got in Tina’s room.” He leaned forward as if to impart special information. “Separate rooms, you know?”
Tina smacked him on the arm. “We’ve been dating for six months. You could at least get my name right.”
Revolution Page 9
