Separation (17 page)

Fear showed itself on Allenby’s face for the
first time, fear combined with shock and rage. “Stop them,” he
cried to his minions. “Stop them!”

It did little good. Harry and Anastasia tore
into them, knocking them flat, and Harry picked up a pistol,
pointing it at Allenby’s chest. “I told you one day you wouldn’t
have a weapon handy. Now I do.”

“So you do.” The scientist’s voice came out
in a burst of guttural rage mixed with defiance. “Go ahead and
shoot.”

In a slow, careful gesture, Harry handed the
pistol over to his wife. “No, I’m not going to shoot you. I’m going
to beat the living hell out of you for killing Morello and Lambert.
I’m going to beat the living crap out of you for sending that
warthog after me and my wife. And I’m going to rip you a new one
because you’re total scum.”

Red—he saw the color of red—and seizing
Allenby by the collar of his tailored suit, proceeded to hurl him
from one end of the cavern to another. Once he’d finished tossing
his foe around, Harry proceeded to punch the man’s round face until
blood poured from his nose and mouth.

It took everything he had in him not to let
his claws out and finish off this maniac. The feeling to strike ran
through him like wildfire... and then he saw the man’s swollen
face. The bastard was smirking. “Go ahead and do it,” Allenby
whispered. “You know you want to.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Low and guttural, Harry heard his voice, and
to his ears, it sounded like the grunt of an animal just before it
killed its prey. “I do, and you know why. You manufactured death.
How does it feel to be close to it?”

His claws sprang out and for a brief second,
his human and animal sides fought for dominance... but gaining a
measure of self-control, he hauled his prey over to a chamber. The
increase in power seemed to be too much for the machines, and by
now they were now pouring smoke.

Allenby spotted the condition of the machines
and began to quiver. “What are you going to do?” His smirk had
disappeared. Instead, a look of terror shone out under the film of
blood on his face.

“Make you what you hate most.”

Harry tossed him inside a chamber and
securely locked the door, dragging a heavy workbench over to block
off the entrance. He then inserted the memory stick into the
computer, fed in the information that would tie the false
transformation process to the chamber, pressed Enter and dialed up
the machine to max capacity. “Goodbye.”

Just one word, but it was enough.

“Harry, we have to go!”

Anastasia’s anxious voice cut through the
moment of vengeance. Harry turned and ran with his wife to the
rapidly ascending elevator. They grabbed onto the underside and
hung on for dear life as the first machines began to explode. A
chain reaction ensued, and the cavern below them exploded into a
ball of fire.

“C’mon, c’mon,” muttered Harry as the
elevator made its way to the top.

They reached the surface, clambered over the
side, and once out of range, Anastasia grabbed Leo and they made a
mad dash for the exit. Their passage to safety came just in time as
the mountain caved in and they completed their run to freedom.

Once back in the USA, Overton debriefed them and
decided to go ahead with the message of all clear. “The Spanish
authorities have informed me the mission was successful. They
searched the ruins and found nothing but rubble. All the machines
were destroyed.”

“Did they find any bodies?” Anastasia wanted
to know. She was in the kitchen in the middle of devouring an array
of sandwiches she’d made. Leo had eaten half of them and now lay
snoozing on one end of the couch, his snores adding to the
pleasantly quiet quality of the afternoon air.

Harry also wanted to know if things were
really so wonderful. Since returning to the cozy confines of home,
he’d slept for a solid twelve hours with Anastasia by his side,
held her close, and thanked his lucky stars they’d returned
safely.

Overton had called him two hours earlier to
confirm a debriefing and had shown up with Leo tagging along, like
a puppy dog with his master. Istvan remained under heavy guard at
headquarters, but things looked peaceful, at least for now.

The agent sat on the other end of the couch,
a pensive look on his face. Harry busied himself at the work table,
going over equations on his computer while his wife continued to
feed her face. Well, she was eating for two, he reasoned.

Tearing himself away from his work—he felt
the answer to the riddle of solving the devolution in the
transgenics was almost at hand—he swiveled around in his chair.
“I’m going to second my wife’s question,” he said. “Did they find
Allenby or anyone else?”

“No. They found what was left of the
drone-clones... they didn’t find Allenby.”

Well, that was all the evidence needed. “Then
I’m not sure it’s a wise thing to say all clear yet.”

Anastasia finished her lunch and walked over
to kiss Harry. “Second that opinion. Finding no one’s body means to
me that he might still be out there.”

It was a sobering moment, and it cast a pall
over an otherwise pleasant reunion. Caution and watchfulness still
had to be observed. “We’ll keep looking,” Overton said as he
checked his cellphone. Apparently finding nothing, he put it away.
“Is there anything else you guys want to talk about?”

Actually, there was. Harry had been thinking
about something as of late, the subject of integration. If the
Europeans weren’t into acceptance, there had to be a way for North
Americans to accept the different. It wouldn’t be easy, but it
would be worth it, he felt. “We do need to talk about
integration.”

A thoughtful look appeared on Overton’s face.
“All right, let’s talk about it.”

Perhaps this wasn’t the right person or the
best time, but Harry reasoned he had to start somewhere. “We need
to bring in some of the other transgenic people, bring them into
the fold. They’re out there, and they have no support. What I saw
in Italy and France, they’re living in the countryside and have
nowhere to go.”

“Hmm...”

“Added to that,” Anastasia chimed in, “if
they’re poor and hungry, what’s the first thing they’re going to
do?”

Overton exhaled softly. “Steal, I’d
imagine.”

He wasn’t so clueless after all, Harry
thought. “Yeah, either that or get involved in something more
dangerous. It’s not as if they couldn’t do it. Some of them are as
strong as we are. If we can show people that we’re not all bad,
that we’re not dangerous, there may be a chance for acceptance. I
talked with the guys there. That’s all they want, and I’ve got a
feeling the transgenics here—if there are any—want the same
deal.”

“So what are you proposing?” Overton sounded
skeptical. “I’m in law enforcement. While that’s part of the
government, the higher-ups may not be willing to extend a helping
hand, if you know what I mean. Still,” he scratched his head with
his good arm, “I’ll listen.”

Harry quickly outlined his plan. First, put
out a call on the Internet for anyone who was transgenic to come in
and meet with government officials. Chances were some of the
transgenics who’d been hiding in the United States had Internet
access and might trust someone who was like them. The officials
would then assess them for what they could offer. If all went well,
find them places to live, train them if necessary or send them to
school. “Not everyone’s going to be well educated, you know.”

Overton didn’t say a word during the
presentation, but after ten minutes, he stood up and shook Leo
awake. The mole-man sat up, yawned and stretched. He’d devolved
even more, almost to the same level as the animal whose genes his
had been mixed with. It seemed Leo only had a matter of days before
the animal genes overwhelmed his human ones.

The agent walked over to the door and opened
up. Leo ambled along behind him. “I’ll put in the calls,” Overton
said. “I can’t promise anything, but I do have a few contacts and
I’ll see what they turn up.”

He began to walk out, but Anastasia quickly
went over and laid her hand on his arm. “Why are you so willing to
help us?”

The reply was unexpected, but welcomed.
“Because Agent Farrell said you were good people. Because I saw how
you risked your lives to do the right thing, and you saved my butt
while we were over in Europe. And,” he paused, “because I think
you’re decent.”

A rare smile accompanied the compliment.
“That was an order directly from Farrell... but it’s one I agree
with.”

The door softly closed behind him. Anastasia
returned to the couch and sat down. “Do you think anyone will
listen to us?”

She sounded doubtful, and who could blame
her? Harry recalled the incident with the talk show host. Moreover,
he recalled the way the populace had looked at him as well as his
wife and small friends. Attitudes didn’t change overnight.
Underneath a veneer of humanity, people were really still
savages.

With a sigh, he joined her and took her hand
in his. “Let’s hope so. How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Maternal.”

It seemed the right answer. She got off the
couch and headed for the bedroom. “We had a pretty hectic week.
Care to join me in some R&R?”

That was an offer he could not turn down and
he took her hand. “I think I can manage.”

Anastasia giggled. “I think you already
did.”

Overton contacted them two days later. “All
quiet on the Western front. I just got off the line with Interpol
as well as the Spanish authorities. Rodriguez is pleased. They’ve
detected no movement and have had no incidents so far.”

Harry asked him about France and Italy. “What
about their situation... same as usual?”

The reply didn’t surprise him in the least.
“It’s the same, but at least the authorities there are trying. We
can only do our best on our soil. That’s how it has to be for
now.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

He was about to ask another question, but
Overton interrupted to say, “If you’re going to come to Manhattan,
then drop by headquarters. I may have some good news for you about
the government.”

Harry replaced the receiver and decided to
take the agent up on his offer. Anastasia elected to stay behind,
pleading a little downtime, and she bestowed a fond kiss on his
lips when he told her of his plans, to go see Farrell first, then
check with Overton and see what things were like. “I’ll be here. Be
careful.”

“I will.”

He could have run to the city in about an
hour, but decided to drive instead. Along the way, a few other
motorists did double takes when they spotted him, and he took in a
few breaths, muttering it was always better to count to five than
to be in jail for three to five for smacking someone. Attitudes had
to change, but they wouldn’t change overnight.

“When,” he muttered after someone took a
picture of him and then gave him the finger. “Just tell me
when.”

Arriving at the hospital, he found Lynn in
the corridor. She held a plastic water bottle in her hand. “My
father isn’t feeling too well right now. He’s in some pain, but I’m
glad you’re here. He was asking for you.”

Harry walked inside and found Farrell sitting
up in bed. His mentor had grown thinner still, but his eyes were
clear. “If you’re going to ask me how I feel,” Farrell grunted,
“then don’t.”

“Okay, I won’t ask.”

Farrell squirmed around and let out a heavy
sigh. “Overton told me what you’re trying to do vis-à-vis the
transgenic crowd. I think it’s a good thing, but he also told me
about what happened in Spain. Be careful. If this guy Allenby is as
smart as the information says, then he may have a surprise
waiting.”

“You don’t think he’s dead?”

“No.”

Farrell asked for some water, and after Harry
got him a glass, he took a few sips and shakily began to set it
down on the small night table. Some water slopped over the side and
Harry helped him place the glass down.

“Thanks,” Farrell said, shaking his head as
if peeved to have been helped with so simple a task. “I’ve been
doing some checking. If I were you, I’d check on domestic
production. ASR had a lot of holdings, and I’m not sure they
divested all of them before shutting down.”

It made sense, and Harry filed the
information away. They spoke for a few more minutes, and then Lynn
entered. “I’ll talk with you later on,” Farrell said. “Keep me
updated.”

“That’s a promise.”

Trotting on the street over to FBI
headquarters, Harry met a few people along the way. Some of them
gave him a wide berth, while others seemed a bit friendlier, asking
about the details. “We’re on the Internet,” one of them said, “but
the government, man, they’re never going to tell us the truth.”

The man, young and with an earnest
expression, seemed decent enough, but Harry knew better than to
offer anything concrete. All he had were a few theories and zero
proof. “We’ll keep checking.”

It seemed like the right thing to say.
Arriving at his destination, he saw Overton waiting outside,
flanked by a few men. “They’re my backup, just in case you’re going
to ask,” Overton tossed off.

He dismissed his men once they entered the
building and took Harry to a small office on the second floor,
furnished with a table, a few chairs, and a laptop. The rest of the
room was bare, save for a few shelves with law enforcement manuals
on them.

“You didn’t get Farrell’s office?” enquired
Harry.

Overton stared at him. “You really have a low
opinion of me, don’t you? No, I wouldn’t take it. They offered it
to me, though.”

Leaning back in his chair, still favoring his
injured shoulder, he grunted softly. “I’ve got too much respect for
Farrell. Out of all the possible candidates, he picked me.”