Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller)

by Ty Hutchinson

  Through all of this, the young man continued to hibernate, ignoring the prodding and poking. Most people would have woken or, at the very least, stirred. Was excessive sleep a side effect of the drug? Elan scribbled the question in his notebook.

  When Elan finished with his tests, he sat quietly at Malcolm’s bedside. Hours passed before Malcolm moved and made a tiny noise. Was he awakening? Perhaps he was dreaming. Elan leaned forward and whispered, “Malcolm? Can you hear me? It’s Dr. Ortega.”

  Just as before, the sleeping man didn’t respond. Earlier, Elan had thought Malcolm had woken, but when he spoke to him, there was no response. After a few minutes, Malcolm stirred again, this time turning his body to his side. Elan gently grabbed his forearm and gave it a light squeeze. There was movement under his eyelids. Elan leaned closer, his mouth nearly touching the man’s ear. “Malcolm, can you hear me?”

  He opened his eyes and answered with a deep, growly voice.

  “I heard everything.”

  Chapter 32

  When I woke the next morning, the muscular warmth that had slept beside me all night had disappeared. I can’t say finding myself alone didn’t let me down. I could have been convinced to go another round. In fact, I’d been hoping to be woken up that way.

  I liked Cabrera, but something inside me prevented me from opening up to him entirely. Why? He’s a great guy. What’s the problem? Why not just go with it? We’d just had great sex, yet I could feel the wall around me being reinforced. Why?

  Despite being comfortable around Cabrera, I hadn’t let my guard down entirely. I wasn’t sure why. Recently, the last few months or so, I’d noticed that my level of trust with others had become highly guarded. I started to wonder whether this was always the case and I had only just noticed or if it was something new.

  I wanted people in my life. I wanted to share with others. And I guess I did have people I shared with, but it always felt like surface-level stuff. Why didn’t I do girlfriend things with Agent Tracy House? We got along, had similar interests, yet I never called her. My excuse was always, “She didn’t call me.” Where did that answer leave me? Alone, with no close girlfriends. Yet I really did want some. I kept coming back to the same question: What am I afraid of?

  I had woken with a smile and then rained on my own parade. Sheesh. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m completely normal. I exited the hut and did two loops around the village before heading down to the river. That’s where I found him.

  “Hey, sunshine,” he called out.

  “Please, let’s not do nicknames. Stick with Abby.” I pointed to his hand. “How are you able to get phone service out here?” I’d had no luck with my phone and had been dying to text the family, especially Lucy. I knew she would go crazy over the pictures I had taken.

  “Satellite phone,” he said. “It’s standard issue here. Cell service isn’t reliable everywhere. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  “Yeah, I got that rude awakening before we even entered the jungle.”

  He offered me the device. “Do you need to make a call?”

  I thought briefly about putting a call in to Reilly but decided it was better to have that conversation privately. “It can wait. Are we leaving soon?”

  “In an hour.” He hesitated before speaking again. “Are we going to talk about last night?” His voice wavered.

  “Do you need to?” I asked.

  “Well, I assumed we would make a plan, in case—”

  “In case what?”

  “Well, I like spending time with you and would like to keep on spending time with you, and if someone finds out, I want to know: what’s our response?”

  He looked cute standing there, babbling like an unsure little boy. Of course I’d had a great time last night. But making him chase me was fun, too, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fully give in and ruin it by having him think he had me. Then, all the special treatment he gave me might stop. I liked him on his toes. Wait, is this the guarded Abby I complained about earlier, or am I simply playing hard to get because it’s fun? And as far as I can tell, Cabrera and I represent both agencies in Colombia. Who do we need to hide the relationship from?

  I pulled his head down and kissed him, letting a moan slip out. “I have more to give if I can be convinced,” I said breathlessly as I pulled my lips away from his. I turned around and headed back to the village, counting the seconds before he responded… nine, ten, elev—

  “Wait, what do you mean? What do you want?”

  I stopped and looked back. “You’re a man. Figure it out.”

  <><><>

  We were hiking back to civilization an hour later. The time passed more quickly on the way back. Either I knew what to expect, or I was eager for the comforts of the western world. The second I received cell service, I texted messages and pictures to Lucy and Ryan. Their summer break had started, so they weren’t busy in school. “I went someplace better than any zoo: the jungle,” I told them.

  Ryan’s responses to me were hurried. He was busy with a friend learning how to tie various knots in preparation for camp. I let it slide and focused on my little girl.

  “Ooooooh, Mommy. You scare?” she responded.

  “No, Mommy was excited.”

  She loved the picture of the titi monkey. Po Po took a picture of Lucy making a monkey face and sent it to me. My chest tightened, and I almost cried. I suddenly felt very sad, realizing I missed my little girl. I so wanted to kiss her button nose and hear her infectious laugh.

  When I finished with them, I called Reilly and updated him on my findings.

  “Three days without a peep from you. I take it you headed into the jungle.”

  “I figured I’m here, no sense shortchanging the investigation.”

  I told him about the shack and the outsiders, the obvious signs of experiments, and my hunch that the owner of the place might have been using the natives for testing.

  “Any indication of who these men are?” he asked.

  “Not from what we could tell. They were pretty good about covering their tracks. I’m sure a forensic team could dig up more, but we’re not privy to one. My observation told me they’re not common thugs. They’re educated. They must have been using the natives for testing. For all we know, they could be legit, working for one of the large drug companies back in the States. But with no other information...”

  “What does the DEA agent think?”

  “Agent Cabrera said it’s not uncommon for scientists to be in the jungle. They come for all reasons, but they usually don’t leave their sites looking the way we found this one. Of course, we couldn’t determine what condition they left the shack in before the grieving father got his hands on it.”

  “Spend a day looking into this, and see if it takes you anywhere. If nothing comes up, come home.”

  “Roger, Reilly.” He hates when I say that.

  Chapter 33

  The following day, Elan arrived at the lab early. He was anxious and wanted to prepare properly for Zapata’s arrival that afternoon. Everything had to go as planned. Unlike his brother, he was aware of what their boss was capable of and didn’t trust him. Zapata was a dictator amongst his own loyal men—one who made up the rules and changed them when favored. Those who crossed him were disposed of in painful ways; it was rumored that he had a hidden dungeon where he tortured the outspoken. Even his cook wasn’t safe, so the story goes.

  One day Zapata had complained about his soup being bland. The cook fixed it but not before he said a few choice words that he thought were in private. By the next day, Zapata had boiled the cook alive and fed him to the pigs.

  That alone was enough for Elan to tread cautiously, and he certainly didn’t think his marriage to Adriana would save his behind either. The only advantage the marriage served was that it made their working relationship possible. Before Zapata came along, the Ortegas struggled to fund their research. Grants were hard to come by because of the work the brothers wanted to do. It was “ethically challenge
d,” or so they were told.

  However, Elan and Julio saw things differently. While others were off fixing what was wrong with humans, like eradicating cancer or discovering a cure for AIDS, the Ortegas focused on improving what was good about humans: increasing their strength and intelligence. This is where the scientific community disagreed with them. Creating men who would qualify as superheroes wasn’t exactly accepted science.

  Needing a job—any kind of job—to be able to eat and keep a roof over their heads, the Ortegas agreed to work for Zapata. The task given them: create a new drug that could be sold on the world market. It needed to be cheaper and produce a better high than crack cocaine, and be ten times more addictive than meth so that Zapata could ensure one hundred percent customer retention. It was through this research that they discovered MZ-1 and its curious side effects—which had now become the focus for Zapata.

  “Elan,” Julio called out as he entered the lab, putting on a coat, “how is Malcolm feeling today? Any change in his abilities from yesterday?”

  “He’s doing fine. His spirits are good. His energy is up, and he was responsive to the puzzle tests I administered earlier.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “He solved them all in record time. His enhanced intelligence hasn’t completely diminished, a lingering effect from the drug I suppose. Only time will tell if his brain activity starts to reverse. We should consider postponing the next dose to see if these effects are permanent or temporary.”

  “Nonsense. We must move forward. It is important that we show Señor Zapata what we are capable of. More importantly, we must show his boss that it was a smart decision to hire us.”

  Elan knew whom his brother spoke of. They rarely mentioned his name. It was said that El Monstruo controlled Zapata. He was the only person capable of giving orders to the ex-FARC commander, who of course never talked publicly about it.

  “Julio, I’m worried about Señor Zapata’s sudden interest in our work. We were hired to create a new type of cocaine. But now—”

  “Brother, you worry too much. Zapata is being supportive.”

  “And if we succeed, what do you think a man like Zapata will do with our MZ-1? Help children, give it to athletes, huh?”

  “I don’t think about it because we haven’t reached that point yet,” Julio shouted out as he walked away.

  Elan entered the observation room and helped Malcolm from his bed to the gurney where he lay down so he could strap him in.

  “Will you be giving me my medicine now?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry that I have to tie you down.”

  “Nine straps as opposed to the two last time.”

  “It’s a precaution,” Elan said as he tightened the straps.

  “Why do you listen to him?”

  “Who? Julio?” Elan shrugged. “He knows best.”

  “Doesn’t seem that way to me. You seem to be the smarter one.”

  Elan smiled. “What do you know? You’re only a young man.”

  “I know what I see and hear.”

  “You’re trying to soften me for a favor,” Elan joked. But deep down inside, he felt a bit of pride; he was, in fact, the smarter of the two. But he was also the quieter one, the younger one. Julio was the one who craved the spotlight and, over time had become the de facto representative for both of them. That’s how it was, and Elan accepted it.

  “Do you feel I’m ready to be introduced to the world?”

  Elan checked the straps once again. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t spent nearly enough time observing me. What if I become unpredictable?”

  Elan crinkled his nose at what he had heard. “Why the sudden interest in what we’re doing here?”

  The young man chuckled. “I may be young, but I am not stupid. You kidnapped me to be your guinea pig. You think I am not worried about what is happening to me?”

  “Are you worried?”

  The man looked away as he let out a heavy breath.

  “Of course you should be, but I doubt that you are. You see, I think you like what we have done for your mind and your strength.”

  Malcolm continued to avoid eye contact. He didn’t want to accept what Elan had said. “And why do you call me this stupid name?” he questioned.

  “This isn’t about what we call you. This is about what we’ve done for you. We’ve given you a gift. What will you do with it?”

  Malcolm turned his head to Elan. “I don’t have a lot of things to be interested in around here.”

  Elan nodded in agreement. “I’ll see what I can do about that, but for now, what I need is for you to be a good participant. We have a very important meeting this morning—”

  “Señor Zapata. Yes, I heard you two talking about him. Sounds like a good time. And you’re right about this gift you have given me: I should think about how I will utilize it,” he said, letting a slow smile form.

  Elan raised the bed so Malcolm was upright, still held in place by the straps, and placed a wooden block under his feet to support his weight. He turned Malcolm to face the observation window before readying the two syringes and placing them on the table next to him. All that was left to do was wait for Zapata.

  Chapter 34

  “He’s fully aware of us,” Julio said.

  From the moment Zapata and his bodyguards entered the observation room, Malcolm had not taken his eyes off the ex-general.

  “How much longer before the drug takes effect?” Zapata asked, squinting as he eyed the test subject.

  Elan looked at his watch. “He should be under the influence. It’s almost instantaneous when given via an injection. We’re working on a version that can be taken orally as well.”

  Zapata started to shift his weight from leg to leg while exhaling loudly. Things were not looking good. Malcolm continued to lie there with no reaction; he just stared at Zapata.

  At the end of his patience, Zapata turned to the Ortegas, his face an ugly mess of tightened muscle. “What is this?” he spat. “You waste my time, again.”

  Elan looked beyond the frothing Zapata and noticed a smile on Malcolm’s face. When their eyes met, Malcolm chuckled.

  It was then that Elan realized the smile was a smirk. Malcolm had been enjoying their failure. He couldn’t believe it. Was the lame response to the drug deliberate and all for show? All signs pointed to yes, but what convinced Elan was the way Malcolm’s eyes had narrowed and his eyebrows had deepened.

  “This is all an act,” Elan shouted while pointing at the window.

  Zapata and Julio turned around, following Elan’s finger.

  “What are you talking about?” Julio asked.

  Elan looked at his brother then back at Malcolm. His smile had disappeared and his eyes were emotionless. “He—he smiled. I swear he did. This is all a show.”

  Zapata grabbed Elan by his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. He tucked his fist under Elan’s chin and against his throat, choking him. “I am tired of these silly games.”

  Julio reached out and tried to pull Zapata’s arm away, but one of Zapata’s bodyguards intercepted him and threw him to the floor. The guard then followed with a couple of swift kicks to Julio’s midsection with his heavy boot. Julio lay helpless, gasping for air, as he watched Zapata slowly choke his brother—until a scream caught everyone’s attention.

  Zapata turned toward the observation window. There was a different Malcolm looking at them. His eyes were determined, and his face filled with rage. His lips were parted, baring his teeth in a snarl. Then, in the lowest, most ominous of voices, he said, “Release. That. Man.”

  A slow smile stretched across Zapata’s face as he let go of Elan and shifted his attention. He switched on the microphone. “I see you’ve decided to join us.”

  Malcolm’s breathing, though controlled, showed clear signs of anger. With each inhalation, his chest pressed prominently against the straps that secured him to the gurney.

  Julio had recovered and stood back on his
feet. He, too, was mesmerized by Malcolm’s transformation.

  “Do you understand me?” Zapata continued.

  “Of course I do,” Malcolm shot back. “Do you think I am an ignorant child?”

  Fearful that Malcolm’s insolence would anger Zapata and have them all killed, Julio tried to defuse the situation. “Let’s calm down. We are all friends.”

  Malcolm’s eyes shifted to Julio. “Friends? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize friends do this to one another,” he motioned with his eyes to the bindings on his head.

  “Have you tested his physicality?” Zapata asked of no one in particular.

  “Malcolm is much stronger,” Julio offered, “but we have yet to fully quantify it.”

  “How do you feel, Malcolm? Healthy?” Zapata asked.

  “I feel like a caged animal strapped to this gurney.”

  “Why is he tied down?” Zapata asked the Ortegas.

  “Yesterday he broke a wooden table in half,” Julio responded.

  “And ripped the head off a chimp like it was a piece of paper,” Elan added. “At that point, we began experimenting with his strength. We’ve watched him pop basketballs like they were balloons and rip a caiman’s jaw open. He failed at nothing. Eventually we ran out of ideas.”

  Zapata took a moment to consider what the brothers had said before speaking again. “Release him,” he ordered.

  The Ortegas stared at him for a moment. Elan opened his mouth first. “With all due respect, I’m not sure that’s something we should do now. We haven’t tested—”

  “Now!” Zapata demanded.

  “But—”

  Julio grabbed his brother by his shoulder. “Elan, do as Señor Zapata says. We saw Malcolm display extraordinary feats of strength yesterday. It’s only fair that Señor Zapata have the opportunity to see the same.”

  What a kissass, Elan thought. As much as he respected his older brother’s scientific ability, his pathological need to always be right, to always call the shots, annoyed him. So did Julio’s smugness.

  Malcolm shared Elan’s opinion of Julio. He had needed only a few days with the Ortegas to see that Julio treated Elan like a child. An incompetent child at that. He often spoke over him, berated him with unnecessary questioning, and automatically deemed every one of Elan’s opinions unworthy. Why would Elan put up with such treatment? What confounded Malcolm even more was how clearly superior Elan’s intelligence was to Julio’s. He could not understand why the level of respect shown between the two was lopsided at best.