Allenby didn’t need to answer. He’d designed it to keep someone as powerful as himself locked away. Now he was, and wouldn’t be getting out, not in this lifetime. “Goldman, when I leave this place, you’ll be the first person I’m coming for!”
Harry smiled, although no one could see. “Better eat something,” he advised. “I hear the crap you serve is full of protein.”
Triumphant, he turned to leave. At the entrance, he heard Allenby scream his fury, but once he passed through the door and locked it, the scream trailed away to a series of wretched sobs.
When he returned to the lab, some of the other transgenic bodyguards had managed to make their way out, but they were in the throes of organ failure. As they lay on the ground, dying, Harry felt a sense of pity, but there was nothing he could do. Even if he had the tools to help, was it worth it?
No, he decided, it wasn’t.
Leaving them, he retrieved the bags of Istvan’s blood, found a small refrigeration box in which to keep them, and walked upstairs to the surface. Inhaling the frigid clean air cleared his mind. It also prepared him for what he had to do.
As he looked around, the bodies of the general and his men—or what was left of them—lay scattered upon the snow. Searching for the bag of munitions, Harry found it, took the charges, set them for ten minutes, and returned to the complex.
Inside, he placed each bomb at what he figured to be the weakest structural points, a few of the columns and near the entrance. He set most of them in the laboratory. While figuring things out, a little voice in the back of his mind told him there was a chance the explosion would somehow interrupt the circuitry controlling the prison cell, but it was a chance he’d have to take. Once done, he walked upstairs to close off the trapdoor.
There was nothing he could use to fuse the trapdoor shut, so he hunted around and found a few heavy stones. Dragging them over, he rolled them on top of the door. Then he walked away just as the first charges went off. The ground started to shake violently, and a rumble sounded indicating rocks caving in.
He grabbed the blood box, ran to avoid the shockwaves, and when he was just about out of range, he thought he heard a scream... but couldn’t be sure.
It was over, and he took a parka from one of the dead soldiers, donned it, and walked inside the airplane in order to tell the pilot to send a message. It was time to go home.
Epilogue
While he was waiting, another plane came into view, this one smaller than the transport Harry had been on. It landed, and three soldiers immediately hustled over to his position. Someone in Moscow must have been monitoring the tracker. “Did you find the American traitor?” one of them asked in heavily accented English.
“Yeah, he’s still inside.” Harry waved his hand in the general direction of where he’d come from.
“What is down there?”
“Death,” Harry answered. “You’re welcome to it.”
The soldiers went to investigate and returned thirty minutes later. They carried the bodies of their comrades on board and Harry gazed at the torn and still form of General Sharpova, feeling regret this man had also died for nothing. Perhaps he would have made good on his promise to aid the transgenic population here... perhaps not. Now, there was no way to know.
On the plane, wrapped in the blankets, warm and tired, Harry dozed off. His feelings of regret over what had happened were replaced by anticipation, the anticipation of seeing his wife and daughter once more. He did not dream, but remained in a light state of sleepy wakefulness, an oxymoron if ever there was one.
However, upon their touchdown in Moscow, a soldier whispered, “We are here,” and he came to a fully alert state. The airplane taxied into a private hangar, and once it stopped, the other soldiers on board brought him to a private room, got him some coffee to drink, and left him.
They took the blood samples, though. Harry started to protest and then stopped. What was the point? If they could use it to cure their sick, then they should have access to it. He possessed the formula in the most vital place of all—his head. That was where it would stay until needed.
The room had no windows and only a small table and two chairs. Harry leaned back in his seat, wondering what would happen now. He was a foreigner on Russian soil, he’d committed grievous acts against a number of citizens, and the lawmakers in Washington were probably ready to toss him into jail.
Status of being a private citizen notwithstanding, he wondered if any country out there would be open to having him. Topping off all his concerns, he wished only to see his wife and child. Was that too much to ask?
The door opened and Overton walked in. Another man wearing the uniform of a high-ranking officer, middle-aged, tall and lean, with a lined face and narrow eyes, stood next to him. He whispered something in Overton’s ear and then withdrew.
Harry caught the words, “private discussion,” and nothing else. Why bother keeping anything a secret there? This place was probably bugged. “I see you made it,” he said once the door closed.
“I got here as fast as I could,” replied Overton. “It’s a big country, and you were out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Harry pointed at the empty cup. “This is the Russian version of it, lukewarm mud.”
Overton chuckled as he seated himself. “At least you still have your sense of humor.” He then wrinkled his nose. “You might have showered, too.”
There wasn’t time, Harry offered as he took a chair opposite Overton. Now seated, he asked the most relevant question. “Do I have anything to be worried about, outside of the fact I’m a fugitive from the law?”
Shaking his head, Overton offered a rare smile and subsequently winced. “I’m still healing up, thanks for asking.”
He jerked his thumb at the door. “That man you just saw is general Lymantova. He’s a member of the Russian Army, a senior member, a decorated veteran, and he’s one of the highest ranking military officers around. He also cleared everything for you. So you might show a little gratitude.”
“Show gratitude?”
Overton nodded. “Yeah, gratitude, as in we’re on Russian soil and technically speaking, you’re responsible for destroying public and private property in Oymyakon, if I pronounced that correctly. There are a whole lot of other charges the Russians could stick you with, but they won’t.”
A sense of outrage flowed through Harry. He’d done what was necessary, done what he had to do, and they were tossing him this garbage? People had died, died most horribly, and all they could think of was private property? “Do you know what happened?”
“From what the general told me, yes.” Overton arose, grunting as he did so and flicked his eyes at the ceiling briefly, as if to say watch what you say. The walls have ears.
Harry caught the meaning and clamped his mouth shut. Getting outraged there wouldn’t work. This was a matter of diplomacy... and all he wanted to do was to leave that part of the world forever. The next seven words he heard from the agent sent a pang of hope throughout his being. “We’re free to leave, no strings attached.”
Arising, Harry asked, “That’s it, that’s all there is?”
Overton straightened his jacket. “That’s it, in a nutshell. The orders came from Washington and from your wife, your wife being the first,” he continued, his manner most nonchalant. “Once I contacted Washington, they put her on the line. She said to bring her husband home. She said her daughter misses you. And before you ask, your baby is fine.”
Hearing that, Harry chuckled, the first time he’d laughed since... he couldn’t remember. Anastasia was really getting into her role as his wife—and mother. As for his daughter... he hoped his appearance, beaten up and bedraggled, wouldn’t unduly shock her. “You flew her to Washington?”
“Actually, we drove, and there’s a reason why she’s there. You’ll know once we arrive. That’s where we’re going first. Let’s get you on board.”
They made their way out of the room, and a few gu
ards came by to escort them to the gate. A few reporters snapped pictures, but the guards pushed the press back and the man Harry had seen before stepped over to them as they were about to pass through the gates. “My name is General Igor Lymantova,” he said. “I knew General Sharpova. I have been assigned to monitor your people.”
Harry turned on him, suddenly angry, tired, and wanting nothing more than to get out. Everyone he knew, everyone like him, was dead. There were still survivors, though, and what would happen to them? This time, screw protocol and diplomacy. “My people,” he repeated. “Well, mister, my people have been massacred by your people. General Sharpova was trying to stop that. Are you?”
It was time to stop the politeness routine. No more BS and no more decency. He’d been shown none and was now done with it. Lymantova got a chastened look on his face. “I apologize. It was a poor choice of words, Mr. Goldman. Rest assured we are doing what we can, and we will do what we can. We are also in your debt for providing us with your anti-cancer formula as well as the blood samples.”
Rest assured...
Harry didn’t feel assured of anything, but in order to avoid what could become a diplomatic row, he gave a brief nod. “Fine, it should work. As for my people, I’ll wait to see what happens.”
The general turned to Overton. “We will be in touch, Parker. Have a safe journey back.”
Harry observed the pleasantries without replying, but couldn’t help wondering about the first-name usage. Once on board, he chose a window seat, but closed the blind. It was a commercial plane, and while he felt somewhat conspicuous sitting there in just a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, matted fur and bruises and cuts healing, he realized in a moment of the inevitable that this was how it was going to be. He’d be stared at no matter where he went, so he’d better get used to it.
Turning around, he locked gazes with a woman who’d been gawking. Fat and slovenly looking, she wore a cap called ushanka, the fur-lined covering most foreigners bought as souvenirs. “Take a picture, ma’am. Preserve this moment forever.”
Pithy phrase delivered and not bothering to wait for her reaction, he sat back. Overton slid in beside him. “Making friends already, I see.”
Harry uttered a grunt. “So are you. Since when did you and the general start going on a first-name basis?”
A red hue suffused Overton’s pale complexion. “Since we’re sharing information and we want to avoid an international incident. That’s all you have to know.” He cleared his throat and settled back. “That’s all we want.”
“All I want is to go home and see my wife and daughter.”
“Uh-uh, Washington comes first. Settle back. This is going to take a while.”
It took a lot of deep breathing, but once the plane had lifted off and cruised to a level altitude, Harry felt the tension leave. It would do no good to get angry. It would serve him better to direct the anger at the people who deserved it.
When they landed in Washington, a private car met them and whisked them off to Capitol Hill. There, Ulbricht, the slimy politician, came out to meet them on the steps. It was mid-morning when they arrived, and the sun had come out. He was accompanied by a number of secret service agents who weren’t trying to stay hidden.
A few other curious citizens came over, but the police were on hand to keep them back. This was the time, Harry thought, to get things straight, and he started to walk toward the senator.
Ulbricht’s eyes narrowed and he took a step back. Apparently, the memory of getting slugged remained fresh in his mind. Overton stood off to the side, his face impassive, but an expectant look in his eyes. How this was going to play out was anyone’s guess.
As for Harry, his immediate thought was about Ulbricht being a coward. The first time they’d met, everything had been done in private. Order had to be maintained and so did image. To Ulbricht, image was everything.
Now he’d chosen to make it all public. He didn’t want a scene. Taking a deep breath and resolving to stay in control, Harry started things off on a neutral note by saying, “I’m here.”
“I’m sincerely glad you made it back,” Ulbricht said.
The response came out in such a cold manner, Harry just as sincerely doubted it. “Where’s my wife?”
Overton cleared his throat and stepped forward to whisper that she was on her way. Harry nodded his thanks and turned his attention to the politician, who seemed to be taken aback, as his formerly impersonal mask had dissolved into a thin-lipped frown of disapproval.
Ulbricht raised his hands in a placating gesture. “We really should talk about this inside. May I call you by your first name—?”
“We don’t know each other well enough to go on a first-name basis,” Harry interrupted, seething at the man’s unctuousness. “This is as good a place as any.”
“But...”
“And as I recall, the last time we met, you wanted to keep monitors on us twenty-four-seven.” If ever there was a time to continue a roll, this was it, and Harry had no intention of stopping.
“You wanted us to carry name cards. You also tried to jail me as an enemy of the state for, uh, what were those words, oh yeah” he locked gazes with Ulbricht, “for aiding and abetting a foreign mutant?” A snort of disgust escaped his lips. “You used that truck of yours. How many do you have in your fleet?”
Ulbricht flushed an angry red and darted a nervous look around at the quickly gathering crowd. He’d been caught out, no doubt, but played his part well. “I don’t know what truck you’re talking about. As for what I said, those were my words, more or less. I may have been... in error...”
Harry laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You may have? Cut the crap, you were. Trying to arrest me as an enemy of the state constitutes a pretty big error, wouldn’t you say?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a few reporters on hand and they were busy snapping pictures and having their cameramen capture the magic moment. Well, if they wanted the truth...
The whole truth would have to wait, though. They’d be getting it soon enough—maybe. Going in closer, Harry asked aloud, “Did you get the email, you know, the one containing pictures of the truck, the documents showing your ties to ASR, all of that?”
The senator’s face paled. “I told you I don’t know about what you’ve just mentioned.”
“Sure you do. And we have the proof!”
Harry tried not to sound too triumphant, but this was his moment. A little gloating was in order, and Ulbricht sputtered, “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would. Our Russian friend helped out. He’s not around anymore.” Harry’s voice caught, as he remembered the death of his friend as well as Istvan’s. “Here’s an old-fashioned word for you. It’s called blackmail. You may have heard of it.”
Stepping back, it did his heart good to see the confident demeanor of this man disappear. Ulbricht’s body shook and his lips quivered. Ashen-faced, he appeared on the verge of having a stroke. Abject failure and misery were not pretty sights to see.
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Harry continued, and his heart took flight when he saw Anastasia walk over, pushing a baby carriage. She wore her usual yellow skirt and blouse, and her fur shone in the morning sun. The reporters also noticed and swung their cameras over, clicking away madly.
Once she came over, a smile broke across her face and he caught her in his arms. They nuzzled each other gently, before she indicated his daughter’s sleeping form in the carriage. “She didn’t cry once on the way out here,” Anastasia whispered. “Now that’s a tough little girl. She can even take your stink.”
“I’ll clean up later.”
He gazed at his daughter. She’d grown so much in only two weeks since her birth, and now resembled a six-month-old baby, with a full head of black hair and features Anastasia must have had as a baby... a totally human one. “Yeah, she’s tough like her mother,” he said. “Hold on, I have to finish something.”
Swiveling around to impale Ulbrich
t with a glare, he marched up to him, stood a foot away and laid out the one-two-three of it all. No anger now, just cold and pure fact.
“As I was saying, Senator Ulbricht, here’s what you’re going to do, assuming you have a job once Congress checks into your past history.”
Ulbricht’s mouth dropped open, but he recovered enough to say, “Call me on the mobile transport if you like. It was all legal, sanctioned by the State Department.”
At least he’d admitted things. “Maybe it was, but I wonder how the public will like it,” Harry mused. “Secret trials, lock-ups... they may not. As for ASR—”
“Investments, they were investments.” Ulbricht’s face sparkled with sweat, and he took out a dainty lace handkerchief to mop it off.
“There are other investments—off the books—and we know which ones they are,” Harry whispered. “You do, too.”
More sweat poured down Ulbricht’s face. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he knew he was caught. He drew in a number of deep breaths before asking, “What do you really want?”
“You’re going to leave us alone,” Harry stated in a loud voice for all to hear. “This means forever. We look how we look. Some of us weren’t created by choice, but we’re still people.”
“Only furrier,” Anastasia chimed in, which provoked a laugh from the quickly gathering crowd. “And we want what everyone else wants—the same chance to get a job and be good people. We haven’t broken the law... but you have.”
Thoroughly nonplussed, Ulbricht swiped more sweat off his forehead and stammered out, “We weren’t sure about your intentions then—”
“Even though we came clean and stated them,” Harry interrupted. “You’ve stopped us at every turn. You’ve tried to deny us our rights to live like everyone else. It may work in other countries, but it won’t work here. We’re American citizens, do you understand?” His voice hardened. “This won’t happen again. Count on it.”
Reaching down into the baby carriage, he gently picked up his daughter. Sara Emily yawned, opened her eyes a moment, and smiled. Her teeth had already started to come in. Glancing back and forth between Harry and Anastasia, she offered another smile.
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