Separation

by J. S. Frankel

  Chapter Three: Do We Go?

  “He’s alive?”

  The warthog creature was temporarily forgotten. Anastasia raised the question and broke into a smile. Harry also the felt the same sense of elation his wife must have been feeling, but decided to make sure. “You call him piggy. Who told you that?”

  “He say it to me,” the little mole-man replied in a phlegmatic manner, as if this kind of thing happened every day. “We meet in underground. That is where he stay for now. That is place we all stay.” His gaze swung back and forth between them. “You no believe me?”

  First things first, get a name. “What’s your name?”

  “Leonardo. I no remember my last name.”

  He’s another experiment. He has to be. “Do you remember anything?”

  Leonardo shook his head. “No, I no remember. I,” he furiously rubbed his eyes with his paws as if trying to shut out a nightmare, “I wake up in room with other people like me. The man in charge—I never see his face, but I hear his voice—say to go out and live in world. That is all.”

  “He was Italian?” That came from Anastasia.

  Her question caused Leonardo to shake his head in a violent motion. “No, he have accent... like you.”

  American... things were getting interesting... and strange. The Russians had pioneered this particular field of transgenic research, so what was an American—maybe—doing in on this?

  Transgenics was nothing new. Harry’s father had been a transgenic researcher, but he’d confined his research to developing hardier fruits and vegetables. Harry had taken it a step further by running simulations on human enhancements in an attempt to find a way to stop cancer, the disease that had claimed his father’s life. All of it had led to this point.

  His mind whirled with the possibilities, but he decided to think about it later. “So you woke up in a room in Italy somewhere and this mystery guy told you to leave?” Harry wasn’t sure if the mole understood the question, but he seemed to get it.

  “Si... I mean, yes, that is right. He say get out to me and ten others. We leave at night. I know area—it is in countryside I understand—so I know way to Rome. We go at night, me... two others. They leave me second night, so I go alone. I don’t know where they go to.”

  He stopped and struck a pose that wouldn’t have looked so out of place on a brave explorer, one paw over his heart, the other on his hip. “Me, Leonardo, I go to Rome, and then find another like me, someone who look like dog, and he take me underground. There, I find place to stay, with others. They are same people.”

  The waking up in a mysterious place and amnesia thing was what the Russian scientists had originally done to Anastasia. They’d used a combination of drugs to blank her memory, but no memory blocks were perfect. Eventually, she’d regained total recall of her former life. Maybe this mole-guy would, too.

  As for the person with the American accent, Harry didn’t have a clue. He needed more information, though. “So when did all this happen?”

  Leonardo scratched his head. “This was... two weeks ago. Then I meet pig-man after first week there. They keep me in room alone and say they have to make sure I am good person.”

  Security—they’d need it against the mobs. “Describe him.”

  Leonardo proceeded to give every single detail about Istvan, and everything matched right down to his sleeping habits, even how he curled up. At the end of ten minutes, he asked, “You believe my words?”

  Anastasia tapped him on the shoulder and he practically hit the ceiling. “Calm down. What else did he tell you?”

  Talk about being on edge! “I’ll echo what my wife said about calming down,” Harry added. “She’s trying to help.”

  “She is your wife?” Leonardo seemed impressed as his eyes widened and he swung his head back and forth to regard both of them. “You are lucky to find same person as you. I search among my new friends.” A look of sadness crossed his face. “There no one is like me.”

  Look of sorrow or not, the facts had to be gotten first, and Harry prompted, “So what else did the pig-guy say?”

  “Nothing... except he say go to America, find Harry and Anastasia. I hide on board cargo ship. I come here... land in port and leave ship.” He tapped his paw on the ground as if to indicate what he was saying was on the real, “Now I am here.”

  It could be true, thought Harry as he crooked his finger and pointed to the corner of the cabin. “Okay, hang on a second. Take a seat while my wife and I talk this over.”

  Leonardo seemed pleased. He sat on the couch, wriggling around as if overjoyed to be sitting on anything but stone or dirt. Harry motioned to the far corner of the room. Anastasia followed him over. Eyes shining with possibility and hope, she asked, “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

  “Yeah, I think so. He knows Istvan. The name... it’s possible with all the hate groups out there he wants to stay hidden, but how could Istvan have survived?”

  “He always was very good at hiding. That’s how he did it. He must have crept over the borders somehow and made his way to Italy.”

  It didn’t answer the question of their adversary. Then again, it didn’t have to. Apparently, the warthog creature had been sent by someone else to commit an act of mayhem. Against who was another story, but the theory seemed logical enough.

  Putting aside his theory for the moment, Harry decided to find out what this new visitor knew and gestured to the couch. His wife took a seat beside the mole-guy and her manner became warmer. “Do you know where Istvan is for sure?”

  “Of course I know.” Leonardo’s attitude, formerly shy, became somewhat more assertive, and a note of indignation sounded in his voice. “I am Italian. I no remember my last name, I no remember many things, but I remember I am Italian and I know city well. Pig-man lives underground in catacombs, under Vatican. That is safest place for us. The bad men, the assassins, they come to kill us, but we hide and stay safe. I am good at hiding, too.”

  Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to him to hide from the now-dead warthog, but in a gesture of defiance that Harry found amusing, Leonardo thrust his pointy chin forward. “I not have claws or strong body, but I am smart and I smell things—everything. I smell you up here. I find you. That is my ability.”

  It was a good ability, Harry had to admit. “All right, sit tight while I contact someone.”

  Leonardo suddenly got a look of suspicion on his face. “Who you call?”

  “FBI...”

  Hearing those three letters caused the little mole-man to make a mad dash for the door, screaming about polizia and tests and other words in Italian. Leonardo wasn’t very fast or strong, and Harry easily caught up to him, grabbed him around the shoulders and tossed him back to the couch, where Anastasia put a powerful restraining hand on his shoulder and said, “You’ll be okay. We trust the FBI.”

  “Sort of,” muttered Harry as he walked over to this computer and started to type out a message to the man in charge.

  Morning couldn’t come soon enough. Leonardo had been in a state of agitation most of the night, sniffing the ground and every corner of the cabin and running from place to place. Even when the clock struck one and Harry desperately wanted to grab some shuteye, he couldn’t take the risk their new acquaintance wouldn’t try his luck in the great outdoors.

  Additionally, Anastasia got sick. She ran in twice during the night to use the bathroom, and the sounds of her barfing made him think she was either heaving up a giant fur ball or she’d caught a cold. The second time she exited the bathroom, he stopped her advance. Leo had finally passed out, so no problem there. “What’s going on? You catch a cold or something?”

  Anastasia groomed her hair with a few nervous swipes. “I must have eaten something bad,” she said. “I couldn’t keep anything down.” She glanced at the sleeping mole-man. “Do you want me to keep watch?”

  “No, get some rest.”

  She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Good idea,” she murmured, and walked into the
bedroom.

  Now it was morning, and she sat at the table, eating an entire roasted chicken, and washing it down with a diet soda. She never seemed to gain weight, an enviable trait. Harry tried not to yawn. Not sleeping didn’t help, but he had other things to worry about than someone’s caloric intake.

  “I remember bad men coming,” Leonardo was saying as he ravaged a loaf of bread. “I no remember where I was first, but I see them coming to take me when I sleep. I wake up, they hit me, and then I look like this. I am rat now.”

  “Actually, you’re more like a mole,” said Anastasia as she finished stuffing her face and went over to guard the door, her arms crossed over her chest. Her tone was not unkind. “They turned me into something I’m not, and did worse to others. I’m fine with what I am now, but we want to find out who did this to you, and we need the help of the FBI.”

  Leonardo stopped eating and asked Harry, “The bad men, they make you, too?”

  “Uh... no,” he replied. “My wife... some other scientists transformed her. I chose to look like this.”

  A look of confusion painted the mole-man’s furry face. “I no understand. Why do you want to be cat?”

  It wasn’t an easy question to answer on one hand, but on the other hand, it was. Mortally wounded in a fight against another transgenic, Harry had used a Genesis Chamber along with a DNA cocktail and emerged in his current form. It was the same DNA cocktail that had made Anastasia what she was. The transformation had saved his life. You had to be grateful for some things, and being alive counted for a lot. In fact, it counted for everything.

  The trade off, though, was society not being in acceptance mode. He always told himself things would get better... but the memory of that rotten scumbag of a talk show host intruded.

  “It’s complicated,” he started to say, but decided to move the conversation in a different direction. “Look, Leonardo, we have a chamber at FBI headquarters, and I need to run some tests, but my plans are almost viable.”

  At least, he hoped they were. He’d been racking his brain ever since discovering his mistake. He was close, very close, to solving the problem, but needed more time and time didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

  “What does viable mean?”

  “It means I think that I can change you back.”

  A look of hope dawned on Leonardo’s face and he put down the mostly eaten loaf. “You can do this?”

  “He can,” Anastasia affirmed from her position. She came over to pat him on the head. “Now finish your breakfast. And don’t worry.”

  The sound of a car horn alerted everyone to the arrival of their ride. Leonardo jumped up, his nose twitching. “We go now?”

  “Wait,” Harry cautioned. “I have to talk to our friend first.”

  He went outside and over to the car where Farrell was waiting. The morning air was cool and crisp, and the first hint of sunlight had just begun to poke its way through the cover of dawn. “We had company last night,” he announced. “Come with me.”

  He showed Farrell the corpse, already covered with ants, and Farrell swatted them away, all the time maintaining his stoic look. Finally, he heaved a sigh. “I knew the peace couldn’t last. All right, we’ll keep this quiet and get a couple of men to take the body away. As for the neighbors, the less they know the better. The last thing we need is panic. Are you okay?”

  “I had a couple of slashes. I heal fast.” Glancing at his forearm, he saw the cuts had already faded. A finger’s touch to his face told him the cuts there had also healed, and he gave thanks to his upgraded body’s capacity to regenerate.

  Farrell’s gaze flicked from the body to the cabin. “Let’s go see the other visitor.”

  Inside, Anastasia had gotten dressed, wearing a bright yellow and red skirt and blouse. She winked at Harry and rubbed her stomach as if to say she was feeling better. “Morning, Agent Farrell,” she offered as she went over to him.

  Leonardo’s gaze followed her. “Bellisima,” he whispered.

  “Grazie,” she answered, and her intonation sounded perfect.

  Will wonders never cease? His wife spoke a little Italian. “Give me a second.”

  He ran into the bedroom and changed into a fresh set of jeans and t-shirt. When he came out, he found Farrell staring at the new guy, sidearm in hand. “This is him?” he asked, gesturing with the weapon.

  Leonardo shied back and Anastasia scolded the agent. “He’s harmless. Put your gun down.”

  While Farrell sheathed his weapon, she turned to Leonardo. “C’mon, we’ve got places to go.”

  Reluctantly, it seemed, the mole-man followed everyone to the car and meekly got into the back seat. He didn’t speak until they pulled into the underground garage. “This place... they help me here?”

  “If you help us first,” Farrell said.

  They shepherded him upstairs where Jason and Maze met the group at Farrell’s office. While they quietly conferred on the hows and whys of how to proceed, Leo stared out the window at the modernity. “I have never been to America with the big buildings. This is like something I no see before.” He continued to gaze at the high-rises and other glass-and-steel structures gleaming in the sun.

  “Far out,” Jason murmured. “First you had pigs and now you got moles.”

  Harry figured it was best to leave out the matter of the super-powered warthog. Good thing, too, as Leonardo broke off his scenic tour and muttered something in Italian. It sounded like a curse, and Farrell must have picked up on it for he snapped, “He’s our guest. Treat him as such.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Jason said and let out a yelp when Maze smacked him on the shoulder. “Hey, I got the message!” He directed his attention to Leonardo. “Sorry, uh...”

  “My name is Leonardo,” the mole-man said. “You call me Leo, if you want.”

  Jason nodded his head in an approving manner. “Leo sounds cool.”

  “Let’s take this downstairs,” Farrell suggested, and they took the elevator to the basement, where Maze got to work on her computer. Farrell asked her for a map of the Vatican. “Leo,” he added, “we’ll need your eyes for this. We want to make sure where we’re going.”

  Obediently, Leo scurried over the computer. Maze seated herself and started typing. Jason stood at her side, chocolate supply bag in hand, and she ceased typing only long enough to snatch a treat from the bag. “Here’s where we were yesterday,” she said as the map of Rome appeared onscreen. She glanced over her shoulder at Leo. “Does this look familiar to you?”

  He squinted at the map and slowly nodded. “Si... yes, this is place.”

  “I’ll enhance it.”

  She clicked on a few more buttons and a detailed map of the Roman sewer system appeared. It was vast, old, and had a number of modern waterways working in tandem with the ancient aqueducts. Leo poked his finger at a spot on the map. “The sewer... it go under the Vatican. There is room we have there. We have a good place to stay... friends. It is good place.”

  A sly smile crept across his face. “I will like to go home.”

  Farrell had been watching all this time without saying a word. He suddenly began to cough, though, and hastily excused himself. Anastasia glanced at Harry and motioned with her head at the door. He got the message.

  Inside the men’s washroom, Farrell was bent over a sink, spitting out blood. The spatter of the other man’s life fluids on the porcelain sent a streak of foreboding through Harry’s mind. Ulcers did this in some cases.

  However, his father had also spit up blood before the doctor confirmed the C-word, and he had an awful and very immediate flashback to the day his father received his death sentence. “How long have you got?” he asked.

  Farrell picked his head up in a slow, weary gesture and ran the water. He washed his mouth out and spat out some blood before taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his mouth. Sweat sparkled on his forehead. “I was diagnosed four months ago. It’s inoperable. That’s all you have to know.”

  His reply,
so quietly and unemotionally given, caused Harry’s heart to jump. So final... he’d initially cried when his father had contracted cancer, but hadn’t done so again until after he died. He thought it would be unmanly if he did in his father’s presence. At the funeral, though, he did. Shortly thereafter, his mother had followed her husband into death and he remembered sobbing uncontrollably.

  Now, a person he thought of as a friend was about to end up the same way and he didn’t know how to take it.

  Farrell answered for him. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got this planned. I can’t go with you this time, for obvious reasons, but you’ll meet my replacement downstairs. His name is Overton. You’ll leave tomorrow afternoon. I’ve already made the arrangements.”

  With an effort, he turned around. “I need to take a taxi to the hospital. Overton will drive you and Anastasia home, along with our mole friend.”

  He said nothing more and made his way over to the door. There, he leaned against it for a moment after opening up. “Do a good job. My replacement will have everything ready for you.”

  Orders given, he exited the room. Harry waited, struggling to keep his emotions in check. It wouldn’t do to break down at a moment like this. Weakness wasn’t an option. Staying strong and in the moment—he had to do it, man up and take responsibility. No one else could, save his wife.

  After getting himself ready mentally, he stepped outside. Farrell had already gone, but Anastasia was leaning against the door of Farrell’s office, with Leonardo tagging after her like a puppy after its mother. “How is he?” she asked.

  “Not good.”

  When the situation was dire, what else was there to say? The thought of a friend’s demise was demoralizing, to say the least, and Harry didn’t want to think of anything else save going to do his job and coming home again. It was a certainty this would weigh heavily on him, but Farrell wouldn’t have approved.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he said and pointed to the stairwell. “We’re supposed to meet someone.”

  On the first floor, a few agents walked around, giving them suspicious looks at first, and then moving off. One man, short and stout, mid-thirties perhaps, with a round, bland face and a head of dull brown hair, remained, his eyes, small and close-set, focused on them. Leonardo’s reaction was the same as his initial meeting with Farrell. He shied back, but Harry strode ahead. “Are you the replacement?”