Reunion

by J. S. Frankel

  A picture appeared of a man roughly five-ten, with a short, bull-like neck, a beetle brow and heavy, thick features. In human form, he resembled a walking brick, dense and probably just as tough as the manmade creation. “This is what he looked like before?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “This doesn’t mean he’s a spy,” Harry said, handing the phone back.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Overton agreed. “It does mean, however, he didn’t tell us the whole truth. Even so, I cleared his stay with the State Department. They gave him a period of two weeks. That’s all. After that, he has to go back. But we still have to know more.”

  What was the truth, anyway? Naiveté ruled. Harry thought he should have seen it when Pavel managed to tag Allenby’s address so easily. In addition, simply saying he had a friend in the army just didn’t cut it. Was he still loyal to Mother Russia? Was he secretly working with Allenby or someone just as bad? No way to know, but...

  A sudden tremor made him stop. It was the thud of heavy feet running... and it was more than one person. Immediately, the hair on the nape of his neck stood up. A smell, a very noxious, familiar one, came through to his nostrils and he growled.

  “What is it?” Overton wanted to know.

  “We’ve got company. There are at least two of them. They’re big, smell bad, which means they’re clones, and they’re coming fast.”

  Overton took out his pistol and checked the magazine. Satisfied as to its contents, he shoved the magazine back in, saying, “So much for Allenby not telling the truth about his intentions.” He sniffed the air and a grimace crossed his usually placid features. “Even I can smell it. Let’s go.”

  It was the smell Harry had feared most, a heavy, gamy aroma like a dirty wet dog, and he felt a prick of fear. However, anger overrode fear, and he knew who the monsters were going for. “Anastasia,” he muttered. Allenby was clever. He wanted leverage. He knew Anastasia was pregnant, which made this personal.

  Wheeling around, he ran to the room with Overton on his heels. Their passage to safety was interrupted by the arrival of three things that smashed through the doors, bellowing at the top of their lungs. In the realm of six feet in length, they ran on all fours, looked like mutated zebras with the heavy, powerful bodies of the animal, but that was where the resemblance ended.

  Their heads were completely round and vaguely humanoid and hairless, with tiny eyes and even tinier ears, only slits for a mouth and nose, and their skin was gray all over. Foot-long horns sprouted from their heads, thick, curved, and totally lethal looking.

  Frightened hospital personnel and patients shouted and scurried away. Overton waved them off. “Get out of here!”

  “Got any ideas?” asked Harry as he tensed for battle.

  “I got one,” Overton replied in a grim voice. Whipping out his pistol and settling into a shooter’s stance, he blasted the lead zebra-man right between the eyes. It dropped to the ground, dead, but its companion charged forward and butted the FBI agent out of the picture. He gave a high-pitched cry as he sailed through the air, his shoulder a bloody mess from the impact of the horn.

  Harry took on the attacker, grabbing it by its neck and wrestling it to the ground. It possessed monstrous strength and bucked him off. Desperate now—worried about where the third one had gone—Harry latched onto a horn. “Trying to hurt my wife is the worst thing you could have done,” he grunted, and with every last ounce of his strength, broke off the bony protuberance.

  The creature gave an inhuman screech. Good, it could feel pain. It was about to feel a lot more. “Kill you, kill you,” it cried.

  Continuing to screech in a voice filled with anger blended with agony, it swung its head back and forth. Harry got slashed repeatedly, but managed to find an opening and stabbed the thing in its neck, driving in the horn as deeply as it could go. It let out the cry of a mortally wounded animal and then dropped to the ground—dead.

  Anastasia! Heedless of his injuries and of any possible danger, he ran full speed to her room. The wall had been caved in and he found his wife on the floor, a cut on her brow but otherwise unharmed. “You’re okay?”

  Anastasia nodded and wiped the blood off, but she needn’t have bothered, as the wound had already begun to heal. “I’ll make it,” she said in a tired voice. “That thing won’t.”

  Pavel was in the middle of a wrestling match with the other zebra-man, grunting and snorting with the effort. “I have this!” he cried. “I get him!”

  In a sudden shift in molecular engineering, Pavel’s body distorted and took on the attributes of the zebra-man. Genetics gone wild at their fastest and most furious, horns burst from his forehead and his body grew in size, matching his opponents’.

  Uttering a cry of rage, he head-butted the monster repeatedly on its body and face. The blows drew large amounts of blood from both combatants. The creature continued to fight, but Pavel wrestled it to the ground and punched it several times in its throat. A few seconds later, it spasmed and relaxed into death, and Pavel hurled it away from him. “Fah... is no good monster.”

  He swiveled around, and his horns disappeared into his head as quickly and magically as they’d come out. His body quickly shrank to its usual size. A second later, Pavel dropped to the ground, panting. “This is... odd,” he said between puffs of breath. “I not have this feeling before.”

  So this is what forerunner means...

  Harry had seen the hidden genes, but he’d thought at the time they might be used for repair as opposed to literally shifting one’s shape. “Pretty amazing,” he said.

  “I no care for amazing,” Pavel answered as he slowly got to his feet. “I care these things are dead.”

  Anastasia walked over to him and laid a friendly arm on his shoulder. “Thanks for helping out. I owe you one.”

  “Me too,” Harry chimed in.

  Pavel beamed. It was a tired and spent smile, but it spoke volumes. And now, Harry knew he could trust him.

  So they had an ally. Pavel, in spite of his frightening appearance, came across as a basically decent person. From the way he moved and the strength and ability he’d demonstrated against the monster, he was far more dangerous than he let on. It was best to keep on his good side and let only the creatures see what his transformative side could do.

  Moreover, he’d saved Anastasia’s life and the baby’s life as well, so all in all, Harry had cause to be grateful. A number of police had already arrived along with paramedics and other men in black, Overton’s contribution to the clean-up effort. Patients were crying and shouting, and a few of the officers had already cordoned off the area.

  Pandemonium ensued as the police called for order. Keeping the press away was paramount, as their reports would most likely contribute to public hysteria, and right then they couldn’t afford a witch hunt. Harry had to give this one to Allenby, who had audacity to the max. He should have known that monster wouldn’t tell the truth.

  A loud cough interrupted his moment of introspection as Overton walked over to them, his shoulder a bloody mess. A nurse was sponging the blood off, urging him to take a seat. “Stick a bandage on it,” he snapped. “Pavel, we need to talk.”

  “And you need to sit down,” the nurse ordered in a no-nonsense tone that meant argue with me and you’re spending the next ten days here.

  After heaving a sigh, Overton slumped down on a nearby seat. The nurse ran off and came back a minute later with a bottle of antiseptic and a thick bandage. She set to work, cleaning the wound, clucking all the while. “You’re lucky that thing didn’t gore you. It just slashed your shoulder open.”

  “Yeah, call me lucky.”

  Once the nurse had finished her job and exited the scene, he cast an accusatory look at Pavel, who was leaning against the wall, a pleased expression on his face. “You didn’t tell us the truth before about you working for Russian intelligence.”

  Pavel’s pleased expression faded. “Ah, I see you check. You no ask me. If you no ask, I no tell. I was Russian in
telligence, but when I change, they throw me away. I no work for them no more. I still have friends there—they help me out sometimes. But I am no longer Spetznatz.” Sadness entered his voice.

  It was easy to figure out how much he regretted it. “Well, let’s leave the Russian intelligence thing for now,” Harry said. “We have to find Allenby.”

  Grunting, Overton got to his feet. “Good idea. Let’s move. Being here endangers the other patients.”

  As they walked through the back exit, Pavel asked “Where we go now?”

  Harry cast his gaze around. A few more police officers had already shown up in order to lend support. Always a day late and a dollar short, as the old saying went, and it was hard not to feel as though they’d been abandoned. Anastasia took his hand and squeezed it. The very touch of her fur to his sent a wave of positivity through him. It was a feeling he welcomed, although he knew it would be short-lived.

  “We’re going to Washington,” Overton said as they got into his car. “We have a meeting with a senator, and he’s going to want to hear everything.”

  “Wonderful,” Pavel muttered. “I no understand much about people, but I know politicians are no good no matter which country. They make rules, we follow, but people die.”

  Unfortunately, Harry had to agree with his sentiment. He only hoped things would be different with Ulbricht.

  They weren’t. Aboard a private jet requisitioned by the FBI, Anastasia spent the next hour hurling left, right and center, and the sounds of her spewing into the airplane cabin’s toilet startled even Pavel. “What, she has the baby soon? I think mother’s sickness no last so long.”

  “It shouldn’t.” Harry tried to come up with a better answer, but since nothing came to mind, he went with the obvious. Getting up and going over to the lavatory, he knocked on the door. “Are you going to be okay?”

  The sounds of retching continued unabated until he heard, “Do I sound okay?”

  No, she did not. Harry returned to his seat. “She’ll make it.”

  Anastasia emerged a few minutes later, heaving in deep breaths. “That’s better. I’ll think twice next time before getting pregnant.”

  Overton came back to where they were sitting with a laptop. “This message came in a few minutes ago. Maze also managed to find out where Allenby is, thanks to Pavel’s help with the patch.”

  “Glad to be of service to great spy organization,” Pavel said with only the faintest trace of sarcasm.

  Overton’s eyes narrowed and he opened the laptop. “You may not be so glad when we meet this thing. Take a look.”

  A video sprang up. Allenby stood in a cavern, surrounded by craggy rocks and dim lighting, shadows crisscrossing his face. His body looked more Cro-Magnon than ever, with his brow severely pronounced, almost a shelf.

  “Goldman, if you’re watching this, here are my terms. I will be at this location for the next two days along with my captive. You are to come alone, bring whatever information you have with you, and I will exchange this pig’s life for that information. If you do not show up, I cannot guarantee my men won’t eat him.”

  The video faded. Overton closed the laptop. “This came in fifteen minutes ago to FBI headquarters. Allenby was early. Washington has informed me they’ve received this as well. So we’d better get our game face on.”

  “Where is place?” Pavel wanted to know.

  “It’s an abandoned mineshaft in Arkansas, Rush Ghost Town, to be exact.”

  The facts were much like those of other ghost towns. Miners had come to that area of the country at the turn of the century seeking silver, according to old Indian legends. Instead, they’d found zinc, an important trace mineral, along with some smaller quantities of silver. Production peaked during the First World War, but by war’s end the demand had declined and the settlers eventually drifted away. By the early nineteen-seventies, it had closed down.

  Closed down... until now, Harry thought. “You’re sure?”

  Overton nodded. “According to Maze, the power emanations can’t be anything else.”

  An announcement came over the loudspeaker. “Landing soon, sir,” the pilot said. “Strap in.”

  They did, and fifteen minutes later, the pilot glided in smoothly. At the airport, he taxied into a private hangar. “We’re here,” Overton pointed through the window. “So is Ulbricht.”

  As the door opened, the steps unfolded, and Harry got his first look at the person who perhaps held the key to equality. Ulbricht, a tall, spare man in his fifties with a head of gray hair, had a piercing set of cloudy blue eyes and a face like a hawk’s, a patrician nose, high and long and thin lips. He wore a sharply tailored dove-gray suit, necktie knotted just so. Not a crease anywhere. “Agent Overton,” he said. “Welcome to Washington.”

  Harry caught the look of distaste on the man’s face when he looked in their direction. It was the same expression he’d seen on every other individual who didn’t care for that which was different—disgust. That emotion, combined with fear, often led to hatred. In turn, hatred led to violence, and Harry had experienced enough violence over the past year from mobs and lunatics to last a lifetime.

  “Thank you for meeting us, Senator Ulbricht,” Overton replied. “I realize you’re a most busy man, but I wonder why you asked for the meeting here.”

  “Considering the situation, I think it a most judicious move,” Ulbricht replied. “Out of sight,” he turned his gaze on Harry and his wife, “and out of mind. So you’re Mr. and Mrs. Goldman.” His voice was frosty, devoid of any warmth whatsoever.

  Harry had a difficult time believing this person might be of any assistance. Nevertheless, he kept his voice level. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ulbricht. Agent Overton says you might be of assistance to us in—”

  “It’s Senator Ulbricht, and I know what you want, Goldman. I don’t think you can understand who I am or what I’m capable of.”

  Those words, uttered so coldly and devoid of any passion, convinced Harry that this would not be a productive meeting at all. Anastasia growled, while Pavel merely glowered, but neither of them said anything.

  Ulbricht continued, reciting his qualifications. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but let me shower you with some reality on this scenario. I am the senator for this great state, the chairman of the House Oversight Committee, and I also consult with other committees in order to help govern how this great nation should be run. I’m very busy, as you can tell.”

  From the way he spoke—in authoritarian tones combined with a touch of snobbishness—it appeared he carried a lot of clout. Now he was using it. “Senator Ulbricht,” Overton began, “don’t you think—”

  “Allow me to finish,” Ulbricht interrupted as he touched up his tie knot and then swept his hands through his hair, as if searching for a stray strand. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he dusted off his shoes and replaced the handkerchief in his pocket, but not before neatly folding it again.

  “As I was saying, I chair a number of important committees here on Capitol Hill and elsewhere. We have been tracking the number of incidents that have occurred in this country over the past year, and it is most dismaying.”

  Anastasia, who was fairly quivering by this point, erupted with, “You can’t blame us for those! We didn’t bring those people here.”

  He affixed her with a bland look. “Oh no, so if you didn’t, would you kindly tell me then who did? I might remind you, Mrs. Goldman, that you were a product of foreign experimentation and subsequent intervention. I am well aware of your past and won’t hold that against you.

  “However, I don’t think you appreciate the severity of the situation, or the implications of offering you and yours citizenship, full citizenship. Considering the breaches in security, the attacks on American soil over the past year, not to mention the loss of life incurred in those attacks, you can hardly ask me to put forth any recommendation.”

  Overton had been looking on with consternation, and stepped forward to offer in a p
lacating tone, “Sir, these two have been influential in saving lives. You just pointed out the breaches in security. Those were the responsibility of Homeland Defense, the local airlines and the port authority personnel. This is a big country, and the police departments can’t handle everything and—”

  “Neither can the FBI,” Ulbricht supplied.

  A tone of defeat sounded in Overton’s voice. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” Now a smirk, slow and smarmy, appeared on Ulbricht’s face. “Those lapses were the responsibility of many people, I’ll agree. I’ll cede that point to you.”

  Sensing a minor break, Harry put in, “So if the responsibility wasn’t totally ours, then wouldn’t this be a good opportunity to show good faith and bring in the transgenics, if there are any?”

  Ulbricht shook his head, a slow, measured movement. It seemed everything he did was for dramatic effect. “There are so many problems with that line of thought, Goldman.” He raised his finger and waggled it, as a teacher would when scolding an unruly child. “Without proper numbers of how many of your kind there are, it is impossible for me to allow any kind of leeway in this matter or even recommend it.”

  The old refrain show me the numbers had once again reared its head, but Harry had expected it. Admittedly, no one else had come in—yet. Perhaps there weren’t any American-made transgenics after all, and it would be a most cruel fate to have to live in a society without someone else like him and Anastasia. This wasn’t the kind of world he wanted to offer to his future offspring.

  Ulbricht was darting looks at his watch, an expensively crafted piece of intricacy. It seemed as though he couldn’t wait to leave. “It is now almost four P.M., and I have a meeting soon. I’ve wasted enough time already,” he said, and sounding most testy. “I expect to be apprised of what happens with Allenby. We are aware of the thing he holds hostage—”