Hybrid (Brier Hospital Series Book 7)

by Lawrence Gold

  “And, that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Denise cried.

  “There’s no ‘supposed’ in any of this. It's right off the wall.”

  “Does Zack know any of this?” Denise asked.

  “No. I don’t see how he could, and,” Gabe paused, wiping his eyes. “This is devastating news to me, and, it's going to kill Zack!”

  “We need answers, Gabe. When? Why? Who? How? Maybe we can make sense of this?”

  “I think we’d better, but knowing won’t change the reality for us.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  When Zack arrived home from school, a black sedan was sitting in the driveway. He opened the front door to find Denise and Gabe seated with James Olsen, the FBI agent.

  Olsen stood as Zack entered the room. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

  When Zack looked from Olsen to his parents, his stomach cramped. “What’s this about?”

  “You read about the killing of Antonio Vega?” Olsen asked.

  “Yes,” Zack said, “but what has that to do with me?”

  “Please, Zack,” Olsen said, “don’t make things worse.”

  “Is Zack a suspect in that killing?” Gabe asked, rising.

  “I just want a few moments of Zack’s time.”

  Gabe shook his head. “You haven’t answered my question, Inspector.”

  “No, he’s not a suspect,” Olsen said, “but he can do himself some good if he cooperates.”

  “Why aren’t you talking with Jorge Moneo?” Denise asked.

  “All in good time. I have to deal with a few loose ends with the good professor.”

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, Inspector,” Gabe said, “but we’re invoking Zack’s right to an attorney.”

  “If that’s the way you want to play it…”

  “Play it?” growled Gabe. “This is no game.”

  “Neither is the murder of a Spanish official on US soil.”

  Zack got up and paced the room. He turned to his parents. “Maybe I should go with him?”

  Gabe turned to Olsen. “Zack’s underage. You’re not to speak with him out of our presence or without an attorney. Got it?”

  “Got it, but you’re making a mistake. If Zack’s involved in any way, you want me on your side.”

  “We’ll discuss the situation with our attorney and get back to you.”

  Zack walked up to Gabe. “Please, just let me…”

  Gabe stepped between Olsen and Zack. “Let me show you out, Inspector,”

  After Olsen left, Denise, Gabe, and Zack remained sitting in the family room. Nobody talked. Finally, Denise asked, “Are you sure that we know what we’re doing, Gabe?”

  “I know enough not to trust law enforcement,” Gabe said. “Their objectives are certainly not ours.”

  Zack looked from Gabe to Denise and back. “I’m scared.”

  “Everything will be all right,” Denise said.

  “Don’t do that, Denise,” Gabe said. “Zack is in trouble. How much, and with what consequences—we don’t have a clue.”

  Zack scratched his head and paced the room. “You must believe me,” he pleaded. “I had no idea that Adam would shoot Vega. It shocked me. I couldn’t believe it. He—they, I mean Jorge must have been planning this all along.”

  “We’re on your side, Zack, but you did participate in illegal activities on your own volition, didn’t you?”

  “We only wanted to set the stage for Vega’s downfall by releasing a complete record of his crimes. Nobody was to be injured.”

  Gabe shook his head in frustration. “You used an explosive device as a distraction, and then a Taser. Then you assaulted, kidnapped, and unlawfully detained a Spanish diplomat.”

  “Maybe I should move to Cuba?”

  “It's not funny,” Denise said.

  “I know, Mother. Believe me, I know.”

  “Your father is searching for a skilled, and hopefully, a connected attorney. We’re going to need all the help that we can get.”

  “Whatever you do, Zack,” Gabe said, “don’t go near Jorge. He’s caused us enough grief.”

  Gabe stared at Denise. After a moment, she nodded. “We need to discuss something else with you, Zack.”

  “What else? I really don’t think that I can deal with anything else now. Can’t it wait?”

  Denise’s eyes welled. “No, it can’t.”

  “Okay,” Zack said, “what is it?”

  Gabe shifted in his seat. “You know that honesty, as painful as it can be at times, has defined our family. Now, we’re dealing with something that’s painful for all of us…”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I confirmed your blood type, and mine, too. I’m type AB and you’re type O. That’s impossible.”

  “What does that mean?” Zack asked.

  “Please Zack,” Gabe said, “you know…” he paused. “Biologically we’re not related.”

  Zack paled. “You’re not my father? How’s can that be?”

  “In every way possible, I’m your father. Nothing can change that, but facts are facts.”

  “Who is my father? How did this happen?”

  “We don’t know, sweetheart,” Denise said. “We had difficulty getting pregnant so we used in vitro fertilization. My egg and your father’s frozen sperm. Clearly something went very wrong.”

  Zack was breathing heavily, Tears ran down his cheeks. “Wrong—that’s the understatement of the year.” He paused. “Who am I? What does this mean?”

  “There’s more,” Gabe said.

  “What’s more? I think I’ve heard enough.”

  “I was grasping for straws,” Gabe said. “Trying to disprove the significance of the blood type discrepancies, so I ordered a DNA profile on your blood.”

  “I could have saved you the trouble. Jorge ran my profile at the Denisovan lab. He said that it was unremarkable and consistent with my mixed heritage.”

  Gabe turned to Denise. “Is there no end to that man’s manipulations?”

  “I don’t understand,” Zack said.

  Gabe leaned forward toward Zack. “What I’m saying, Zack is that you have an unusual DNA profile. It’s one that would be obvious to anyone who knows anything about DNA analysis. Jorge certainly fits into that category, so the question is, why did he lie to you?”

  “My head’s spinning,” Zack said. “What’s so unusual in my profile?”

  “Give yourself a moment to digest what I’m about to tell you,” Gabe said. “The genetic profile of homo sapiens shows, on average, 1-4 percent Neanderthal DNA. The Basques show a bit more and that has lead to the belief, by some, that Basques are the descendants of Neanderthals. Your DNA revealed 18 percent Neanderthal DNA, unheard of.”

  Zack’s eyes widened. “I’m a Neanderthal—a caveman—a troglodyte?” Zack said with a mocking laugh—that’s great!”

  “Of course, you’re not a Neanderthal,” Denise said, “but your genetics may help explain your special abilities.”

  Zack stood. “This is bullshit—total bullshit.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the front door.

  Alarmed, Denise followed, trying to grasp his arm. “Please don’t leave. Where are you going?”

  Zack breathed deeply, looked from Denise to Gabe, and back, and then managed a sardonic smile. “I’m going to the California Academy of Science’s natural history exhibit to visit my family.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Zack was sitting with Ella at a picnic table in her backyard. He’d been riding his bike through the neighborhood and somehow wound up at Ella’s.

  “You don’t look so great,” Ella said. “I’m afraid to ask what’s wrong.”

  “Good instincts.”

  Zack went on to tell her about the newest revelations about his heritage, the threat of imprisonment, Adam, the clash with Denise and Gabe, and his disappointment with Jorge.

  “Where do we start?” Ella asked. “Your genetic profile answers, I think, the ques
tions we’ve had about your talents. Neanderthal DNA—it's kinda cool. Imagine the speculation about the entire image of Neanderthals and their role in human evolution?”

  “Excuse me, Ella, if I don’t find that subject equally fascinating. At the moment, it's entirely too personal.”

  Ella reached across the table and grasped Zack’s hands. “And, it doesn’t change a thing about you. In all ways possible, you’re an incredible human being.”

  “Human being…Homo sapien—I’m not so sure.”

  “Okay, 18 percent Neanderthal DNA is hardly controlling, and if Neanderthal DNA produced a Zack Berg, then maybe you’re the next step in human evolution, a gift to mankind.”

  “I suspect,” Zack said, “that the world may not see it that way. If this ever comes out, my life is over.”

  “Then we make sure that it doesn’t.”

  “Adam and Jorge had to be into this scheme right from the start. I understand Jorge’s motives, and even Adam’s relationship with Jorge, but I thought that Jorge really cared about me. If he did, how could he have used me this way?”

  “You never sensed it?” Ella asked.

  “As you know, I’m good at reading people—better than good, but not with Jorge, Adam, or any students at the Denisovan School. Intellectually, I understand the power of revenge for Jorge, but I can’t identify with it. Perhaps I can’t until something wrongs me enough that I seek vengeance.”

  “I went over to visit Adam,” Ella said. “Seeing him that way breaks my heart.”

  “Despite what he did?”

  “Any act of violence surprises me, but that Adam might be a participant wasn’t that shocking. You know. We talked about his attitudes toward violence and his insensitivity to the feelings of others. That he would attempt suicide blows my mind. To me, he wasn’t the type to injure, no less kill himself.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Zack said. “Humans are incredibly complicated. Perhaps it takes adversity and a lifetime of experience to make sense of it. The closest I have to people who might understand is Jacob and Lola. They’ve lived through a lifetime of hell.”

  “Maybe you should go back to visit Lola.”

  “Maybe?”

  “What’s going to happen?” Ella asked.

  “I don’t know. Adam can’t talk, Jorge won’t, and…”

  Ella stared into Zack’s eyes. “And, you, Zack?”

  “I’d like to put it all behind me, but I can’t. I’d like to get it off my chest, but I can’t possibly understand the outcome should I do so. I want to be noble, but I won’t be stupid. The legal process doesn’t always result in justice.”

  At the Berg home, Gabe hung up the phone.

  “What did the attorney have to say?” Denise asked.

  “He said that he’d be happy to meet with us, and with Zack. At first pass, he said that defending Zack was going to be difficult. He wants $50,000 up front, and at least $100,000 more if we should go to trial.”

  Denise placed her hands over her face. “We can’t afford that—we don’t have that kind of money.”

  “We might have to sell the house or dig into our pension plans.”

  A knock on their front door startled them. When Gabe went to the door and peeked through the security lens, he turned to Denise. “It's General Collier.”

  “What does he want?” Denise asked.

  “Let’s let him in, and we’ll find out,” Gabe said, then opened the door.

  Collier strolled in wearing dress blues and a braided hat. He said, “How nice to see you both again.”

  “State your business,” Gabe said forcefully.

  “I’m here to help you and your son.”

  “We’re in no mood for games, General,” Denise said. “We’re dealing with serious problems.”

  Collier placed his hat on a table. “This is no game, I assure you. I’d also appreciate it if you stowed the attitude. I’m here to offer help. If you’re not interested, I’ll apologize and take my leave.”

  “I’m sorry, Gabe said. “We’re under a great deal of stress. Please go ahead.”

  The General straightened his tie. “I and my associates are prepared to have all charges against Zack, whatever they are or will be, dismissed.”

  Denise’s eyes widened. “You have that kind of power?”

  “That and much more if we define it in terms of national defense,” Collier said.

  “And, what will it cost us?” Gabe asked.

  “Not a penny. Just, as we asked before, we want Zack to work for us.”

  “Doing what?” Gabe asked.

  “Working with the NSA. Zack has a rare opportunity to serve his country.”

  “We need specifics,” Gabe said.

  “I’m sorry. They’re classified.”

  “And, how long will he work for you?”

  “For as long as we need him.”

  “I don’t know if Zack will go for this arrangement,” Denise said.

  The General grinned. “A teenage boy in a Supermax Prison like Pelican Bay—I think he’ll decide to work for us.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  The Director of the East Bay Cryogenic lab wiped his brow as they reached the second hour of his deposition. “Can I at least get a bathroom break?” he asked.

  “Of course,” said the Berg’s attorney.

  When the director returned, the attorney continued, “For the record, you have no evidence of a break in at the sperm bank, ever?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “What about the building itself?”

  “We’ve been tenants for over twenty-five years and never received such notification.”

  The attorney flipped a yellow page. “Have you queried security or reviewed their surveillance tapes?”

  “They kept the tapes for three months only and our queries came back negative. I even queried our security guard, Manny Brown. He’s been retired for six years.”

  After another twenty minutes of fruitless questioning, the attorney said, “Thank you. That will be all.”

  After the lab director left the room, the attorney turned to his associate. “Have Ernie Harter, our investigator take a look at Manny Brown. We’re running out of options.”

  Manny and his wife lived in a small apartment in Rossmoor, Walnut Creek. When Ernie Harter called, Manny was more than happy to meet with him.

  “I enjoy it here,” Manny said. “I loved being a cop and put up with the building security job to supplement my pension. How can I help you?”

  “Have you read about the lawsuit against the East Bay Cryonics Laboratory?”

  “It's a lot of crap,” Manny said, “never was any break in on my watch.”

  “Who else had access to the building?” Ernie asked.

  “Building occupants, the janitorial staff, and a variety of repair and service personnel. I can’t swear to occupants and I escorted service people to their sites.”

  “What about the janitorial staff?”

  “’Staff meant Richie Cole. He was there before me and retired about the same time as I did.”

  “He never took any time off for vacation, illness etc?”

  “Sure, but his older brother, Oscar, worked in his place. Oscar’s gone.”

  Ernie scratched his head. “Anyone else?”

  “Not that I can recall…” he paused, “except this one time in the early nineties, I think…Willie or Will Smith. I recall him. He hated when anyone called him Willie. I remember him well. He had a limp, Polio, I think.”

  “You have a good memory.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. I’m a bit of a freak, a super-recognizer.”

  “A super what?” Ernie asked.

  “You’ve heard of face blindness?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m the opposite, I never forget a face.”

  “Can you look at some photos for me?” Ernie asked.

  “Better than that, Manny said, “I can draw him for you.”

  When Ernie viewed the d
rawing, he said, “Amazing! You missed your calling. You should have been a sketch artist.”

  “Yep. I was a legend in my time, a small one, but we put away a lot of bad guys.”

  Ernie took the drawing and shook Manny’s hand. “You old-timers really knew your stuff. Thanks.”

  When Ernie ran the drawing through the FBI’s photometric facial recognition database, they got a hit at once: Byron Dok, a cold case from 1992.

  Two days later, Ernie got a call from the FBI’s James Olsen.

  “Inspector Olsen. I haven’t had the pleasure. What can I do for you?”

  “Byron Dok.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Computers are great things. Anything to do with Zack Berg and therefore Jorge Moneo catches our attention. The Berg’s suit against Easy Bay Cryonics did just that. We’re going to have to look at the case file on Byron Dok.”

  “By we, Inspector, you mean you and I…you owe me for the lead.”

  Olsen laughed. “Okay, Ernie, but I’m the boss.”

  “You got it. That’s an ice-cold case, Inspector. I’ve looked at it. You won’t find much.”

  “The FBI and local police are getting much better with cold cases. Perhaps we’ll get lucky?”

  “We need to get a hold of the casebook from a Berkeley cop named, Virgil Heath. The guy was a compulsive son-of-a-bitch. Whatever he had would be in his casebook, if it still exists.”

  Through the Berkeley P.D., Olsen and Harter found Heath’s home. When they knocked on the door of the ivy-covered house in El Cerrito, an elderly woman answered.

  Olsen held up his FBI identification. “Detective Harter and I are looking for Virgil Heath. We need information on one of Sargent Heath’s old cases.”

  “Please come in,” the woman said. “He’s here, but you won’t get much from him. He has the Alzheimer’s.”