What are you going to do now?
I have to find someone. I’ll contact you soon.
Take care, man.
Computer now off, he turned to Linda. “Can you get this guy, Tolliver? It won’t be easy.”
“Piece of cake,” she said. “I’ll link up with my gang and we’re off.”
“Be careful,” he cautioned. “Bring him here.”
A smirk formed on her face. “Yeah, right, see you soon.”
Then they were gone, soaring quickly into the clear blue sky. Pavel asked, “What we do now?”
“We wait.”
With some time to spare, a meal was needed. Pavel busied himself with cooking a few eggs and some beefsteaks. “You want me cook something for you?” he asked.
Harry found that he was famished. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything substantial. “Uh, yeah, I could eat something.”
Nodding without taking his eyes off the range, Pavel continued creating in the kitchen. Soon enough, all was ready and he served up the food. They ate silently, and roughly an hour later, he pricked up his ears. “I hear wings.”
Harry stole a glance outside—indeed, he’d heard right. Linda and Beth had returned, holding onto the struggling police chief roughly fifty feet above the ground. “Put me down,” he was yelling. His face was red with embarrassment mixed with fear.
“Hey, if we put you down, road kill will be your middle name,” Linda supplied. “You want us to do that?”
Going outside, Harry could see the two girls had spiraled down to hover ten feet above ground with the still struggling chief in their hands. Abruptly, they let go and he fell to the soft turf, a string of epithets coming out of his mouth in a torrent. “You little maggots, do you know what kind of trouble you’re getting into...”
His usual hardass expression faded when Harry strode up and grabbed him around the throat.
“Let me go, you...” All anger trailed off to a gurgle.
“You... you what,” Harry growled. Pot of water, time to meet the heat, and his anger practically boiled over. Still, from a place deep within, he managed to remain in control. He needed leads, not corpses... not yet, at any rate. “I’m a what?”
He shoved the chief back. Tolliver heaved in great gasps of air, and once he got his breath back, he straightened his uniform and brushed off the dirt. “What’s the meaning of this?” he wanted to know. “You have no right to kidnap me. These... girls... flew to police headquarters and kidnapped me in broad daylight.”
“What he’s trying to say is, we busted in a window on the third floor where he was working and took him,” Linda said, and prodded him with her forefinger. “And you were going to tell us something, right?”
Had a camera been present, it would have caught Tolliver’s expression as something akin to a fish being told it would have to stay on land for a period longer than it could survive out of water.
The expression soon turned to that of someone-help-me, but only stony visages greeted him. Abruptly, he sat down on the ground, his face a font of barely suppressed rage. “I don’t have to tell you anything. I knew you were tied up in something illegal.”
Harry received his statement with a surprising amount of equanimity. He also replied and maxed out the sarcasm. “I didn’t know wanting equal rights was illegal in this country. But if you want to see something not right, come inside. We’ll show you.”
Tolliver glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“Follow me.”
Inside the cabin, Harry called up the image of Ulbricht on the computer. He’d saved the file, just in case, and good thing he had. Once Tolliver saw it, his face went white and he asked in a hushed voice, “Is this real?”
“We were there,” Linda said. “We saw. Harry was trapped inside with the Russian guy. What were we supposed to do?”
“In Russia, police come to people and they no go other way around,” Pavel supplied without a trace of irony. “Here, maybe Americans think people go to police. Looks like both countries are same.”
The hue on Tolliver’s face went from white to a deep crimson. Having your allegedly democratic national security force labeled as fascistic would embarrass anyone. “I didn’t know,” he finally said. “I didn’t know. Even if it’s legal, it’s not right.”
“Sounds legit,” Linda put in, and sarcasm coated both words like chocolate on a candy bar. “What else didn’t you know, how we were hunted down and how you blamed Harry for everything?”
Tolliver, suddenly contrite, but more than likely knowing he was outnumbered, hung his head. “Ulbricht caging you is outside my realm of information. I don’t agree with what you are, Goldman, and I still think you’ve broken the law, but this...”
For his part, Harry was inclined to let things go—up to a point. Tolliver was probably telling the truth about not knowing what the senator had done. All the same, he was part of the problem and not part of the solution.
“So if you didn’t know then,” Harry began, “you do now. If you want to help, tell us where my wife is. They have her, they have my baby daughter, and if either one of them is hurt, it all comes back to you.”
“It’s the FBI,” Tolliver protested, stabbing his forefinger at the floor. “They have her. I heard it’s a safe house, but I’m not sure where. I know it’s in this state.”
“How you know that?” Pavel asked, and crossed his arms over his chest. His beady red eyes shone out a brilliant crimson. Uncrossing his arms, he took two steps forward, fists curled with menace practically written on every knuckle. “You tell us.”
“Because our men arrested her and then we turned her over to the federal authorities,” Tolliver answered, visibly shaking and sweating at the possibility of getting smashed. “One of my men overheard a federal agent talking about a safe house within the city limits. She has to be there.”
Harry had heard enough. It was time to get in touch with someone who knew—Overton. Loss of badge or not, he could be of help. “All right, you can go now,” he said. “We’re done here.”
For his statement, he got an incredulous stare. “Just like that, we’re done?”
“Start walking.” Harry pointed to the door. “That path outside will take you down to the highway. Don’t bother looking for us here. We won’t be back.”
Tolliver retrieved his cap. “I’m sorry, Goldman, about your wife. I really didn’t think—”
“Start walking,” Harry repeated, calm now and mind focused on what had to be done. “When it’s finished, you’ll know. If you want to help, keep your men off our backs. We’re not the enemy you’re looking for.”
To his credit, the chief didn’t say anything. He merely brushed off his clothes and walked out. Once he’d gone, Harry hunted around in his pockets for something and came out with Overton’s telephone number. He dialed it and hoped the agent would be of some assistance.
Twenty minutes later, he spotted a familiar car pulling up the dirt road. Overton got out and waved Harry and Pavel over. “I’ve got your scent,” Linda said, just before she and Beth flew off. “We’ll keep watch. See you around.”
A moment later they soared into the air and were soon lost to sight. Turning to Overton, Harry asked, “What’ve you got?”
In reply, the agent walked inside and got on the computer. Quickly calling up a list, he pointed at one possible place. “If Tolliver is telling the truth, then they might be here. No guarantees. Your wife could be there, or a Mafia informant. There’s no way to know unless we go.”
A trace of doubt entered his voice. “We are going, aren’t we?”
“We’re going. That is, Pavel and I are going. You don’t have to be involved.”
With a sigh of resignation, Overton threw up his hands. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m here, which means I’m already involved.”
After shutting off the computer, he got up to pace around the room in an agitated state, his fists beating time against his thighs. “The FBI has placed me on re
stricted duty. They’re having a board of inquiry next week. Holliman will be there, and maybe he’ll back me up. Still,” he sighed, “I could lose my job over this.”
“Is job worth it, working for fascists?” asked Pavel.
Overton stopped pacing and pointed a finger at him, his face a mixture of rage and embarrassment. “You don’t get to judge this country! Your country is even more messed up, and last I recall, we weren’t shooting transgenics.”
“I see you people shooting my kind before, you remember?” Pavel huffed. “And if you want talk about messed up, you have secret departments and put people in jail in private.”
The reply caused Overton to jerk his head up. “What’s he talking about?”
Harry told him the whole story from the time of his prior capture, his time on the truck, and Ulbricht’s involvement. The expression on the agent’s face went from shock to disbelief and then to outright anger. “That bastard,” he said, “that utter bastard. And he lectured me about homeland security.”
Spinning around on his heel, he made for the door. “Well, are you two coming or not?”
The drive didn’t take very long. Along the way, Overton filled them in on the details. “We’re going to Afton, in Chenango County, north of Binghamton,” he said. “Small population, farmland, out of the way... it’s the only place not being used at the moment, from what I could get out of the FBI database.” He paused to scratch at his shoulder. “They shut me out, you know. My password’s been revoked, my status...”
Falling silent, he continued to stare out at the road. Harry sympathized. “I don’t suppose saying I’m sorry you got involved helps any.”
Overton laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve been involved since Farrell assigned me this case. I agreed to help you. That’s all there is to it. I swore to uphold the law and that’s what I’m doing. If they fire me... they do.”
He rubbed his bad shoulder this time. “Just in case you’re going to ask, it hurts like hell, and yes, I’m still capable of helping you out. I had to turn in my badge and gun. Now, I’m a private citizen, but I’ll still be able to help.”
He stepped on the gas, the car shot down the highway, and within forty minutes, they came to their destination. Afton was indeed a small place, full of open land, quaint Georgian-style houses and farmhouses, and a number of pretty churches. Overton parked the car near an out-of-the-way house and got out.
The smell of water came through to Harry’s nostrils and he asked where the smell came from. “That’s the Susquehanna River,” Overton said.
Pavel gazed out the window with a somewhat envious look. “Is like retirement village in Russia. Rich men and politicians have dacha like this.”
“Lots of people aren’t that rich,” Overton pointed out. “Wait here.”
Taking the lead, he pointed at their target. It sat around a hundred feet away, a small two-story white house with a picket fence. Other than the house, there wasn’t another domicile around for a few hundred yards. Privacy was indeed prized here.
In Harry’s mind, it seemed odd no one was keeping watch. Perhaps because of its location, the agents thought the area safe. It wouldn’t be safe for long—for them.
Overton took off at a quick trot, keeping low to the ground, and stole in close to the house. After he’d taken a quick look inside the window, he retraced his steps and came back to the car.
“Two agents on the first floor,” he said in a low voice. “They’re armed. I didn’t see your wife, but I’m guessing she’s upstairs.”
“We move in,” Pavel said. “They have guns. We are faster.”
Without waiting, he sprinted ahead, and Harry followed him. Pavel smashed through the door, and the shocked looks of the agents showed they were totally unprepared. He took out the first agent, body slamming him into the carpet.
As for the second agent, he whipped out his gun, but Harry, claws out, slashed it away, and trapped the man up against the wall. Left hand on the man’s throat, the right one ready to strike, he grated, “My wife, is she here?”
The man’s eyes bugged out in fear. “Yeah, yeah, she’s upstairs. Only... only another agent and a nurse are with her.”
Harry edged his claws in closer, pricking the man’s skin and drawing blood. “You’d better not be lying.”
“I’m not,” the agent gurgled. “Don’t kill me.”
“He won’t,” Overton said as he came in and scooped up the fallen pistols, tucking them into his waistband. He also took their cellphones and ripped out the cord for the regular phone. “If you’re telling the truth, that is.”
“I am,” the man said, his face turning purple from Harry’s death grip. “Second floor—it’s the first room on your left.”
Overton nodded and said, “Let him go. I’ll cover them.”
Sprinting up the stairs, Harry checked on the first room and cautiously opened the door. Anastasia was sitting on the bed, nursing the baby. A female agent sat on a chair watching. A nurse, middle-aged, heavy and ponderous, sat on the opposite side of the room, her eyes only on the baby. She wore a smile.
The smile disappeared when Harry walked in. In a quick movement, the agent reached for her weapon. Harry was faster, though, and taking two lightning fast steps, he snatched it away from her. “If you want to live, don’t even think about using this.”
Immediately, the nurse got up in a slow, unhurried manner. She didn’t appear to be bothered by the idea of a transgenic cat-person walking in. Then again, she’d been assigned to help out a transgenic cat-woman. Perhaps the novelty had worn off. “You’re the husband?” she asked in a very calm voice.
It wasn’t exactly the reaction Harry had expected, but hey, he thought, go with it. “Who else would I be?”
The female agent snarled, “You’re in a lot of trouble.”
That, Harry thought, had to be the understatement of the year. “Tell me all about it. And then ask me if I care. Right now, I don’t.”
Anastasia raised her voice to say, “Everyone, be quiet. I’m still nursing.”
All eyes turned in her direction, and the female agent spoke, her voice quieter this time, “What do you want?”
“Go downstairs and sit with your friends. We won’t be long.”
The nurse followed her out, pausing long enough to pat the baby on her head. “You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Goldman.”
What else could he say? “Thank you.”
Once the women had gone, Anastasia cracked a smile. “If you’re going to ask me how I am, then the answer is I’m fine. Sara Emily’s fine, too, by the way.”
She showed the baby off. In only a few days, she’d gotten bigger, a layer of baby fat giving her a cherubic appearance. Anastasia put her over her shoulder to burp her. A resounding belch filled the air. Little Sara Emily seemed pleased and giggled as her mother wiped her mouth with a small handkerchief and then cuddled her.
“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Anastasia shook her head and tickled their daughter under her chin which elicited another giggle. “No, they were pretty nice. They bought diapers for the baby, got us food. That nurse was very kind. She wasn’t the problem. We had everything—but no freedom.”
“You’ll be a little freer once this is over,” Overton said as he came into the room. “We’ll have to go soon, but before we do, one of us has to make a phone call.”
They went downstairs, Anastasia carrying the baby, who had decided to do what babies did best—sleep. There, the two male agents had already been tied up. The female agent was sitting in a chair, also tied up. Only the nurse hadn’t been bound. She sat on a couch watching things with an expression of curiosity. Clearly, she wasn’t into the whole law-and-order style of doing things. “We need you to make a phone call,” Overton said to the female agent. “I’ll tell you what to say.”
“What if I don’t?” she rejoined.
Anastasia carefully handed the baby over to Harry. Then she extended her claws to caress the
woman’s throat and trailed the sharper than sharp two-inch digits of death up the woman’s face. “If you don’t, I’m going to carve you up. I didn’t like being here, didn’t like being a prisoner, and didn’t want my daughter to be a prisoner, either. So you’re going to do this. You don’t, get ready to look like a patchwork quilt.”
Her threat got a reaction. The woman paled and nodded. “Who do you want me to call?”
First, on the pretext of spotting Harry, Overton told the agent—her name turned out to be Maxwell—to get in touch with FBI headquarters in Washington. He held the cellphone to her mouth and she identified herself. “We’ve had a sighting here,” she said.
Listening in and tuning out all extraneous noises, Harry overheard the voice at the other end of the line telling the agent to stay put. Help was on the way. “Roger that,” Agent Maxwell said, and looked at Overton for confirmation.
Overton took a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled a message. Ask them if they’ve received any messages. She relayed the question, and this time, the answer came back positive. They’d received a video not more than twenty minutes earlier.
Tell them to send it to the computer here, Overton wrote. Tell them you need the information.
“Send it here,” she said into the phone.
A few seconds later, the video began to play. Allenby stood—where else—in a cavern. The sounds of machinery being lifted and put into position stood out in the background, and he faced the camera with a glare of sheer anger. His brow had become even more pronounced and his speech more indistinct. Devolution was not a pretty sight.
“Goldman, if you’re watching this, then I will give you one last chance to save your friend. You know where I am. I’m at the place where it all began. If you do not come within the next seventy-two hours, I will slice your porcine friend up and mail the pieces to you.”
Reunion Page 13