by Rebecca York
Eyes narrowed, she went back to Swinton’s file. He had earned a medical degree from George Washington University. After a residency in neurology at Johns Hopkins, he had gone back to school at Hopkins to get a PhD in physiology. Then he had won a prestigious appointment to the National Institutes of Health where he had specialized in cutting edge research in genetics. Next, he had taken a research post at Berkeley, but he had been dismissed for illegal work on human fetuses.
After that, he had switched to animal research at a remote, privately funded laboratory in the Colorado desert. Not so far from Los Alamos, where Ben Lancaster had been working, she realized with a sudden start.
The lab had produced some notable successes in the cloning of animals.
Cloning!
She felt a wave of cold sweep over her as the force of the word hit her. Swinton had cloned animals. Would he dare to try it with human beings?
God, was she really thinking such things, Kathryn asked herself, her mind boggling as she tried to come to grips with the implications. It couldn’t be true! She didn’t want it to be true. Yet, she’d always been a logical person. Against her will, logic forced her mind to move on to the next step.
Cloning was the only way she knew to produce identical twins of different ages. And to clone Lancaster, Swinton wouldn’t have needed the whole body, simply a few cells. That she had progressed so far in her thinking in so short a time shocked her to the core. Her assumptions would make Swinton a lawless monster.
Silently, she got up and pulled on black sweatpants, tee shirt, and running shoes. Before the sun came up in a few hours, she was going to check out Building 22. Maybe it would turn out to be like Area 51 in Roswell, New Mexico, she told herself, the place where the Air Force was supposed to be hiding a UFO. But she wanted to see for herself.
She took out the thumb drive and held it in her hand. Hunter had told her to erase it. But the information she’d just read on Swinton was electrifying, and she hated to give up the chance to find out more about the other key players—particularly since Hunter had almost gotten himself killed bringing her the files.
The thought made her struggle for composure.
God, she must be the only person on this whole damn place who understood his basic humanity, his basic goodness.
Her vision clouded. Emerson must have been struggling not to laugh in her face when she told him she wanted to give Hunter the experience of a normal life. Emerson didn’t give a hoot about his welfare. Neither did any of the rest of them.
Her lips pressed into a grim line, she took another few minutes to carefully open a small hole in the seam of her pillow, stuff the thumb drive into the middle of the foam rubber layers, and sew up the seam with the mending kit from her suitcase. Then, for good measure, she turned the pillow around in its case.
Satisfied with the hiding place, she took a small flashlight from her emergency kit and exited through the bedroom window much as she and Hunter had climbed outside the night before.
The night was cool, and she shivered as she stood orienting herself to the map Hunter had drawn. Though she’d been to the research center before, she knew that things would look different in the dark. At least there was a gibbous moon, making it easier to pick her way through the woods behind the house. She came out onto a field about a block from the house and began to jog toward the research center. If anyone spotted her, she’d say she couldn’t sleep and had decided to see if exercise would help. Still, when she saw the lights of a car coming down the road, she faded into the shadows under the trees.
It was a patrol car, she noted, with a little shiver, as it passed. Apparently, the security force patrolled the grounds at night.
Staying away from the road as much as she could, she wound through the complex, stopping once more when she saw another vehicle approaching. With the two interruptions, it took her ten minutes to make it to the research building.
Building 22 was in back. The night patrol had made her careful, and she stood in the shadows of some oak trees, watching for activity, before cautiously moving forward and making a partial circle of the building. It was only one story, with a flat roof and metal doors on two sides. The moonlight did nothing to soften its stark lines, or the general impression that the exterior was in even worse repair then the rest of the facilities.
Now that she was here, she wished she had worked out a brilliant plan of assault. Probably it would be better to scope out the place tonight and come back tomorrow, she told herself. The approach was sound, though she suspected that it had as much to do with a failure of nerve as anything else. She didn’t want to prove her shocking theory. Yet she had to know one way or the other. So, after a nervous fifteen minutes during which she saw no sign of activity, she glided cautiously forward.
She half expected the nearest door to be locked. But the knob turned easily. As she pushed the door open, she started worrying about a silent alarm. Then she told herself that this place probably didn’t need one, since she was the only spy at Stratford Creek.
And not a very cool spy, she acknowledged, feeling her pulse race as she tiptoed down a tile corridor with painted cinder block walls illuminated by dim lights. Deep inside the building, she could hear air conditioning or other similar equipment running. After listening to the background noise for several moments, she crept ahead, feeling more and more vulnerable the farther she progressed into the interior.
The dim, empty corridor was like a set in a slasher movie. Ordinary—but filled with hidden danger around the next bend.
The intersection of the two hallways loomed directly ahead. Stopping a couple of feet short of the juncture, she paused and listened intently but heard only the sound of the unseen machinery. When she cautiously peered around the bend, she saw a desk that might have been a guard station. However, at this hour in the morning, it was empty.
Making a quick decision, she proceeded to her right. Along the new route, she found several doors. The first was locked. The second was open. When she shined her light inside, she saw a small office with another desk and a chair. But the surface of the desk was bare, and the space looked unused.
Maybe there was no current activity in the building. Maybe the research center had been moved to another building, she speculated, ordering herself to chill out. The advice only raised goose bumps on her arms.
What if she got trapped inside this place, she wondered, as she continued down the hall, then tried to cancel the frightening thought. Moments later, she realized the worry wasn’t pure speculation. It had been triggered by a tiny sound coming to her above the whine of the machinery.
Voices, she realized, suddenly. Someone talking in an angry tone. Someone answering. And they were coming closer.
She had only seconds to decide. Another door was several feet in front of her, but it might be locked. Going back toward whoever was coming along the hallway was terrifying, yet it was the best choice she could make. In a frantic dash, she sprinted toward the oncoming sound, yanked the door of the office open, and leaped inside. The moment she was hidden from view, her knees turned to jelly, and she pressed herself against the wall to keep from melting to the floor.
Heart thumping against her ribs, she looked around the little room. There was no other exit, not even a window. If whoever was coming down the hall opened the door, she would be caught like a rat in a trap. But it wouldn’t happen, she told herself. The office hadn’t been used in a long time.
The voices came closer, and with a chill that went all the way to her bones, she realized that the angry person was Dr. Swinton.
“I don’t understand why we’re having this problem!” he growled. “We should be getting a much better success rate. But another one is going bad.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the other speaker replied. “Perhaps, you’ve. . . uh. . . pushed the growth rate a little high. A few more weeks to maturity shouldn’t hold up the project too much, and it might make the difference. . ..”
She recognized this man, too.
It was Swinton’s assistant, Roger Anderson.
An ominous silence followed Anderson’s reasonable-sounding suggestion. Then Swinton asked, his voice so sharp that Kathryn felt the words were piercing her flesh, “Are you sure you followed procedures exactly?”
“Yes, sir. It’s not the fault of the life support system. It’s the inherent problems with keeping genetic material viable.”
The voices were receding now, and she dared to let out the breath she was holding.
“The genetic material is perfect!” Swinton growled.
“Yes, sir. But there are always problems. If you read the literature—” She didn’t catch the rest of the response because the man’s placating voice was now too far away. But she still heard Swinton loud and clear.
“I don’t need to read the goddam literature. I know more than anybody else working in the field. And I don’t want to hear any excuses. You will prepare for a new trial. We will start on the next shift.”
She stood silently in the dark, thinking about the conversation and the strained relationship between the two men. Things weren’t going the way Swinton expected, and he was blaming his subordinate. But she still couldn’t be certain about what type of experiments he was conducting.
After ten minutes without any further interruption, she decided it was safe to open the door. When she peeked cautiously out, the corridor was empty. The temptation to run for the nearest exit was overwhelming. Instead, she stood rubbing the chill bumps on her arms as she considered her options.
It sounded like Swinton and an assistant had been working late. Or maybe the doctor had come by for a surprise inspection. If she retraced their route, she might find out what they’d been doing.
Turning in the direction from which she’d come, she headed for the place where the hallways crossed. Arbitrarily, she turned left and found herself in a section of the building where the temperature was even colder than before. Teeth clenched to keep them from chattering, she listened intently but heard only the constant whine of the machinery. The sound seemed to be coming from behind a door about ten feet along the corridor—where she could see the red glow of a night light shining along the bottom of the jamb. Somehow it made her think of fire seeping up from the depths of hell, and she had the sudden conviction that she didn’t want to find out what was in that room.
Yet she kept moving forward until she could wrap her fingers around the door handle. In the back of her mind, she hoped it would be locked. Instead, it turned noiselessly, and she stepped inside. In the red light she could see several large tanks with glass walls. For a moment, she wondered if this was an aquarium. Then she saw what was floating in the rectangular containers, and a scream of mingled horror and protest rose in her throat.
Chapter Ten
Somehow, she managed to stifle the scream so that it came out as a kind of helpless sob. She wanted to back out of the room and run headlong down the corridor, but her legs quite literally refused to move. Rooted to the spot, she stood in frozen horror, her eyes fixed on the closest tank. Inside, a naked man floated, a man lying on his side, with his knees pulled toward his chest and his eyes closed.
In the eerie red light, she could see tubes attached to his wrists and his mouth. For feeding? Oxygen? Restraint? Some detached part of her brain asked the questions, as she observed him. The rest of her fought a kind of sick horror at what she was seeing.
She stood breathing in gasps of the chilly air, trying not to pass out. The crazy thought ran through her head that she was watching a scene from an alien abduction movie, except that extraterrestrials had not created this experimental laboratory.
It was a human invention, from the diabolical mind of Dr. Swinton. Aided by Anderson and Emerson and the rest of them.
Revulsion engulfed her, and she held on to the metal doorframe to remain erect. It took every ounce of fortitude she possessed to keep standing in the doorway. But she had to know more, so she managed not to turn and run.
Stay calm, she ordered herself. You must stay calm.
Taking a few steps into the room, she eyed the machinery attached to the tanks and the monitoring equipment like in an intensive-care unit. Only this was no hospital. Not with the patients lying in what looked like aquariums.
Her eyes darted to the other containers ranked around the laboratory. Two were empty. Two others held men who looked like twins. The remaining four tanks held boys—or rather what looked like the same boy—at different stages of development, ranging in age from a few years to a young teenager.
Clones? Started at different times. And grown at a rate much more rapid than normal, she speculated as she remembered the conversation in the hall.
Logic had made her think that Swinton had progressed to cloning humans. The reality was more than she could cope with.
“No,” she gasped as she backed away, out of the room, into the blessed solitude of the hall. Then she was running for the exit and freedom.
She was barely thinking, barely functioning on anything approaching a normal level. All she knew was that she had to get away from that place before she passed out. Blind to caution, she staggered down the corridor. If Swinton or Anderson had still been in the building, they would surely have caught her.
Reaching the door through which she’d entered, she twisted the knob. For a few dreadful seconds it wouldn’t open. Then the catch moved, and she careened into the night. Moments later she found herself standing under the oak trees sucking in great gasps of air.
It was still dark, she saw with shock, since it felt as if she’d been in that terrible room for centuries. When she looked at her watch, she discovered that only half an hour had elapsed since she’d first entered the building.
Breath wheezing in and out of her lungs, she made for home. Too late, she realized she had forgotten to pay attention to her surroundings. About a hundred yards from the guest cottage, a cruiser came gliding up behind her and gave her a blast from the siren, almost making her jump out of her skin.
She thought about fleeing, then imagined a bullet plowing into her back. Trying to wipe any expression from her face, she stood dragging in air as two security men she didn’t recognize got out of the vehicle and came toward her. They seemed to know who she was, however.
“Dr. Kelley?” the taller one asked.
“Yes,”
“Do you mind telling us what you’re doing out here at this hour of the morning.”
“Running.”
“You weren’t moving very fast.”
“I know.” For a terrible moment her mind went completely blank. Then she raised her chin. “I had a stitch in my side. I’ve been walking for the last half mile, I think.” As soon as she said it, she wondered if they’d been quietly following her. And how far?
“What was your route?” the one who seemed to be in charge asked.
“I don’t know the compound all that well. I assume it’s perfectly safe to be out at night,” she said, pretending that the man’s chief concern was for her safety.
“Of course,” he agreed.
“Well, I probably should get home now. Thank you for stopping.”
The guard looked at her consideringly.
As if she assumed the interview was over, she turned her back and walked toward the house. Then she remembered that the front door was locked. She’d have to go in the sliding glass door, the way she’d come out. Hoping they wouldn’t wonder why she was disappearing around back, she hurried into the shadows under the trees.
It had taken every ounce of concentration to focus on the conversation with the security guards. Every ounce of concentration to sound sane and rational.
She was about to climb back in the window when Hunter appeared and stepped into the backyard. Seeing him after her experience in the laboratory, was a shock. She made a muffled sound and stepped back.
“I frightened you. I’m sorry,” he said.
Her lips moved, but no words came out.
“I heard the siren,” he said in a strai
ned voice. “I looked out the window and saw you with the security guards. I didn’t know what they were going to do. I thought I should protect you from them. Then I thought I would make things worse, if they saw me.”
“I’m fine,” she said, although she knew she had broken her rule about lying. All at once, it was impossible to keep her teeth from chattering.
Hunter reached for her and wrapped his hands around the cold skin of her arms, rubbing the gooseflesh. “You are not fine,” he said. “You are cold and shaking.”
She tried to deny it but gave up the attempt.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
Building 22, her mind screamed as all the horror of the place came rushing back over her, swamping her, choking her, making it impossible to speak.
Hunter gave her a critical look. When she didn’t say anything, he continued in a flat voice, “You asked me how to get to Building 22. Then you went there.”
When she managed the barest of nods, his hands dropped away from her arms. “You saw the tanks.”
Slowly she raised her head, hoping against hope that she had heard him wrong. “How do you know about that?”
“I have seen them. I tried not to think about it.” When she continued to stare at him, he gave a gulping swallow. “I—I . . . guess I knew what they meant.”
An involuntary shudder racked her.
“I hoped you wouldn’t go there. I knew you would feel differently about me if you saw that place,” he continued in the same strained voice. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I can see the horror in your eyes. Now you are like the rest of them. You know I am not a real person.”
She was still in shock, still unable to think in her normally calm, clear fashion. Her mouth was dry, so that her words came out rough and sharp. “You told me you never lie. Why didn’t you tell me about Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory?”
