Transhuman

  His plan was to send the report he’d written for Fisk to every Web site he could think of, including American Cellular Biology and a half-dozen university sites. Fisk and Rossov, he reasoned, are holding us at this damned Army base to keep me from telling the outside world about my work. Once I squirt the information to the Internet sites, there’s no reason for them to hold us anymore.

  That’s the plan, he said to himself as he squinted up through the tree branches at the helicopter slowly angling away from him. That’s the plan. Publish or perish.

  Luke grunted to himself. Maybe it’ll be publish and then perish.

  No sign of the ground troops, he realized. The MPs aren’t trained for this kind of thing. Hope they’re all city kids. Hope they don’t have some Mississippi coon hunters among them.

  The damned copter was moving back his way again. Luke hunkered down, his back against the tree’s rough bark, his ankle throbbing and feeling hot. With nothing better to do, he pulled a granola bar from his jacket pocket and waited for darkness.

  If I can keep away from them until it gets dark, then I can go out in the open and try to get the phone to work.

  Publish or perish. He laughed softly at the ridiculous irony of his situation.

  * * *

  SOMEHOW HIGHTOWER COULD tell before lifting his phone’s receiver that the call was from his division chief. The ring seemed to be more insistent, more urgent. He knew it was nothing but his imagination but, sure enough, when he put the receiver to his ear he heard his chief’s high-pitched voice:

  “Jerry, come in here.”

  Insistent. Urgent.

  The chief was pacing from his desk to his window, in his shirtsleeves. Dapper as ever, his suspenders were decorated with a Stars and Stripes motif. Very patriotic, Hightower thought as he quietly closed the office door behind him.

  Turning to face him, the elegant little man said, “Rossov’s sending an executive jet to Logan to take you out to Idaho again.”

  “Why—”

  “Abramson’s escaped the base out there. He’s on the loose, and Rossov’s spitting nails.”

  “Abramson’s escaped?”

  “Yes!”

  “Can’t they get Army people to find him?” Hightower asked.

  Pointing thumb and finger like a pistol, the chief barked, “Rossov wants you out there! I’ve been told by the deputy director at headquarters in Washington that you are to get your butt out to that base and assist in the search! So move it!”

  Hightower made a barely perceptible nod. “You know that by the time I get there they’ll probably have picked him up.”

  “I know that,” the chief admitted. “And you know that. And probably the deputy director knows it, too. But Rossov is from the White House and he wants you in Idaho.”

  Suppressing an urge to shake his head, Hightower murmured, “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  THE SUN WAS sinking toward the distant mountains. The air was turning noticeably chillier. Luke still sat at the base of the same tree he’d been under most of the day, bent over his phone, pecking away painfully at a foreword to his paper. He wanted it to be transparently clear, so that anybody could read it and understand what he’d accomplished.

  Looking up at the reddening sky, he thought, Another cold night coming. Well, the sooner the better. Let me get out from under these trees and make my goddamned phone call.

  Helicopters had been droning back and forth all afternoon. At one point a team of soldiers came whacking at the underbrush within a few hundred yards of where he’d been hiding. Luke hunkered down and froze. Like a rabbit, he thought. They can’t see you if you don’t move. The searchers passed by, then an hour later came back from the other direction.

  City boys, Luke figured. No real hunters among them. They sounded tired and dispirited as they trudged by, heading back toward the base.

  Wait for night, Luke repeated silently. Hello darkness, my old friend. Who sang that? James Taylor? No, I think it was Simon and Garfunkel.

  As the shadows deepened and the wind sweeping down from the mountains turned colder, Luke chewed on his last granola bar, thinking, This is pretty ludicrous. Camping outdoors night and day. What I wouldn’t give for a decent hotel room and a nice, hot shower.

  Nobody in sight. Even the choppers have gone away. Maybe I could walk out there and try the phone without waiting for night. Then I could phone Tamara and ask her to tell Colonel Dennis where I am.

  He shook his head. No. Wait for night. Don’t throw everything down the toilet because you’re tired and antsy.

  So he waited.

  In the distance he heard a helicopter droning, but it didn’t seem to be coming his way.

  He waited.

  Closing the Ring

  THANKS TO THE three-hour time difference between the East and West Coasts, the executive jet carrying Hightower arrived at Fairchild Air Force Base, just outside of Spokane, a few minutes after four P.M.

  A pair of local FBI men escorted him to a big, sausage-shaped Army helicopter. Neither of them had much to say. Hightower figured that they resented being ordered to babysit an agent from the other side of the country. I’d be a little ticked, too, he thought, having some stranger invade my territory.

  The chopper was comfortable enough, even though most of the seating area was filled with sealed boxes. The only passenger aboard, Hightower tried to make sense of the labels stenciled on them. Army gobbledegook, he figured. Specialized equipment.

  It was starting to get dark by the time he landed at Base Y-18. A grizzled sergeant, paunchy and sour-faced, stood at the base of the ladder as Hightower descended from the helicopter, his suede jacket hanging open.

  Looking puzzled, the sergeant asked, “Where’s your luggage?”

  Hefting his slim briefcase, Hightower said, “This is it. I guess I should see Colonel Dennis before anything else.”

  With a knowledgeable nod, the sergeant said, “Yeah. The colonel wants to see you right away.”

  * * *

  IT’S DARK ENOUGH, Luke thought, looking at the moon smiling lopsidedly down at him. Enough light to get around without breaking my neck. But then he realized, That means there’s enough light for them to spot me.

  He didn’t hear any helicopters, though. And he hadn’t seen any soldiers searching for him since that halfhearted squad had passed him a few hours earlier.

  Okay, Luke said to himself. Out of the woods and keep on going until the phone connects.

  Wincing on his bad ankle, he started out toward the bare desert, his cell phone in one hand.

  Should’ve gotten a smartphone, like Tamara has. All this little piece of crap can do is make phone calls.

  But maybe that’s enough.

  NO SIGNAL, the minuscule screen flashed. Cursing under his breath, Luke trudged on.

  * * *

  COLONEL DENNIS WAS clearly miserable, Hightower saw. The man appeared to have aged ten years. His fleshy face looked pale, his eyes frightened. He seemed to be hunkered down in his swivel chair, using the desk as a protective barrier.

  “The men I have here aren’t trained for searching the woods,” he grumbled. “My men are clerks, lab technicians, not commandos.”

  “Maybe he’s not in the woods,” Hightower suggested.

  “He’s got to be in the woods!” Dennis snapped. “That’s the only cover for miles around. If he was out in the open, the choppers would’ve spotted him.”

  Hightower agreed with a nod. “I’m not sure what I can do to help you.” Smiling gently he added, “I hope you don’t think that I’m some sort of native tracker.”

  Shaking his head hard enough to make his cheeks wobble, Dennis said, “Bringing you out here was Rossov’s idea, not mine.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can, of course. But I don’t what it might be.”

  Casting an eye at the lengthening shadows of sundown, Colonel Dennis answered, “Let my quartermaster find you a place to sleep. That chopper you came in on has brought us a
load of night-vision equipment. We’ll get him tonight.”

  “Good,” said Hightower. But he wondered if it was true.

  * * *

  SITTING IN THE mess hall, Novack saw Tamara come in for dinner alone. He waited while she loaded her tray and found a seat, then left his own dinner and went to sit across the table from her.

  “Where’s the kid and her parents?” he asked, by way of a greeting.

  “They ate earlier,” Tamara said. “Too early for me.”

  Take it easy with her, Novack counseled himself. Let her relax.

  “You mind if I bring my tray here? I hate to eat alone.”

  Tamara tilted her head slightly. “So do I.”

  Within a few minutes they were talking about Luke’s escape.

  “This is going to make me look real bad,” Novack said. “Fisk is going to blame me for letting him get away.”

  Tamara almost smiled. “He’s locked us into an Army base in the middle of nowhere with whole squads of soldiers to guard it, and he’s going to blame you?”

  Novack shrugged. “That’s the way the cookie crumbles. The Army’ll blame the colonel, but Fisk’s going to come down on me. Hard.”

  “You mean you could lose your job?”

  “Maybe.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not fair.”

  He shrugged again.

  Tamara looked past him. “I’m worried about Luke, out there in the cold all by himself.”

  She calls him by his first name, Novack realized. Is there something going on between them?

  “If the soldier boys haven’t found him by now,” he said to her, “he must be halfway to Canada.”

  Tamara said nothing.

  “And he left you holding the bag. Left his granddaughter, too.”

  “Angela’s almost fully recovered. She’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, but he took off by himself, looking out for numero uno.”

  Scowling, she challenged, “How do you think he could manage to get all of us out of here? He did what he had to do.”

  “Numero uno,” Novack repeated.

  Suddenly Hightower’s massive form loomed over them, carrying a tray that looked almost toy-sized in his big hands.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Novack yelped.

  Sitting down wearily next to him, Hightower said, “I’ve been drafted.”

  Moonlight Encounters

  NO SIGNAL, THE phone still said.

  Luke stared up at the half-moon hanging above the crest of the mountains. Enough light to let me walk out here without breaking my neck, he thought. Also enough light to let a helicopter spot me.

  Maybe I should’ve waited until the moon’s down. No, he decided. There aren’t any helicopters buzzing around, I would’ve heard them. But the farther I get from the woods, the harder it’ll be for me to hide if any choppers come over.

  Trudging along doggedly, he zipped up his windbreaker and pulled his wool cap from its now-empty pocket. His hands still stung when he tried to grip something, but at least they weren’t bleeding anymore.

  Okay, he told himself. Keep going until the phone gets clear of the jamming.

  Far off in the distance he heard a coyote howl. And beyond that, the faint throbbing rumble of an approaching helicopter.

  * * *

  HIGHTOWER WAS STILL munching his way through a sizable dinner when Tamara finished her coffee.

  Pushing back from the table, she said, “I’ve got to get back.”

  “Sure,” said Novack, getting up from the table also. “I’ll walk you home.”

  She gave him a cold stare. “I don’t need any company.”

  “It’s on the way to my room,” Novack said easily. Raising both hands as if to show he wasn’t carrying any weapons, he added, “Honest.”

  Wordlessly, Tamara turned and headed for the row of pegs by the door, where people had hung their coats. Novack went with her.

  Hightower looked up from his bowl of chili and watched them go.

  * * *

  THE HELICOPTER WAS hovering over the trees. And there was more than one of them, Luke realized. If they head this way they’ll spot me easily.

  He looked down again at the phone in his fist. Time and date!

  “It’s working!” Luke shouted into the night. He squatted on the dusty ground and punched up his paper and its foreword. Tap. To ACB. Tap. To his university. Tap. Tap. Tap. To three blogs that he followed.

  The helicopters were still down by the trees. He could see searchlights flicking back and forth from them.

  Twitter, he thought. Send the foreword to Twitter. Too long. Chop it in half and send it in three pieces.

  The searchlights winked off. Luke stared up into the moonlit sky. Why’d they do that?

  Never mind them. Send the foreword to the university’s Facebook site. And the whole paper to the AAAS. And Science News.

  One of the choppers was definitely heading his way. Luke ignored its approach as he bent over his phone, sending his paper and its foreword to one Web site after another.

  * * *

  TAMARA WALKED ALONGSIDE Novack, never letting him get close enough to touch her. He chatted amiably enough, though. Maybe he doesn’t have any ideas about me, she thought.

  But then he stopped and pointed at the nearest building, a two-story wood frame structure identical to the building where she and the Villanueva family were housed.

  “That’s my place. I’ve got a bottle of pretty good Scotch in my room. Practically untouched.”

  “No thanks,” she said, and started walking toward her own quarters.

  She only got two steps away before Novack gripped her arm. “Come on, don’t be so antisocial.”

  “I said no.”

  In the moonlight she could see his face harden. And his grip on her arm along with it. “One lousy drink. It won’t kill you.”

  “No.” Tamara tried to pull loose.

  “You think you’re better than me? You got the hots for the professor? Well, he’s flown the coop, babe, and I’m all you’ve got.”

  “Let go of me!”

  He pulled her to him and twisted her arm behind her back. Tamara was pinned to him. She opened her mouth to scream, but he clapped his hand over it.

  “You just keep quiet and you won’t get hurt.”

  Tamara kicked him in the shin as hard as she could. Novack yelped with pain, and she broke free of his grip. She started to run away, but a sudden blow to her back knocked her sprawling on the dusty sidewalk.

  Novack loomed over her. “You open your mouth again, bitch, and I’ll break your fucking face.”

  Tamara tried to get up, but Novack was on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

  He slapped her face, hard. “Come on, bitch. You’re going to get it, whether you like it or not.”

  Suddenly he was lifted up and off her. Tamara saw that Hightower, massive as an avenging angel, had hauled him up in the air by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his pants and was shaking him like a terrier shaking a rat.

  Novack yowled and struggled, arms windmilling and legs thrashing at the empty air, unable to get at the bigger man. Hightower raised him high over his head, still shaking him mercilessly, then slammed him to the ground. Tamara heard a resounding thump and a sharp crack as the man’s head hit the pavement.

  She raised herself up on one elbow. Novack was sprawled facedown on the ground, his limbs twisted, his eyes half closed. But he was breathing, she saw. Gasping for air, actually. Unconscious, not dead.

  Hightower offered her a hand, and she got shakily to her feet.

  “He … he…”

  “He’s not going to do anything for a while,” Hightower said, as calmly as if discussing the weather. “Come on, I’ll take you to your building.”

  * * *

  “PROFESSOR ABRAMSON.” THE loudspeaker blared over the thrumming of the approaching helicopter. “STAND WHERE YOU ARE. WE’RE GOING TO LAND AND
PICK YOU UP.”

  Luke watched the chopper settle onto the ground, kicking up a whirlwind of dust. No searchlight, he said to himself. They must have an infrared detector.

  He got slowly to his feet and raised his arms above his head, like a prisoner who’s been caught by the guards. In one hand he still clutched his cell phone.

  You got me, he said silently to the chopper crew, but not soon enough to stop me.

  Viral

  WHEN THE HELICOPTER crew brought Luke into the little wooden shack that served as a control center for the helipad, Tamara was there, standing between Colonel Dennis and Hightower. She looked anxious, Dennis tense and angry, Hightower as imperturbable as a mountain with his beefy arms folded across his chest.

  She ran across the tiny room to him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, with a crooked grin. “I’m fine. Now.”

  “You look terrible,” she said. He saw that there were tears in her eyes.

  “Cut my hands a little.” He showed them, palms up.

  “Your face is bruised. And your nose has been bleeding. Clotted blood.”

  “Tripped in the dark.” He glanced down at his ripped trousers. “Cut my leg, too.”

  “My God. We’ve got to get you to the infirmary.”

  “Not so fast.” Colonel Dennis came between them. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Professor.”

  But Luke noticed that Tamara’s cheek was bruised. “What happened to you?”

  Hightower stepped up and answered, “Novack.”

  “That sonofabitch!”

  Placing a massive hand on Luke’s chest, Hightower said, “It’s all right. He’s in the infirmary. Couple of cracked ribs and a concussion.”

  Luke stared at the FBI agent.

  Dennis tried to reassert his authority. “All right, I want to know just what the hell you were trying to do out there. Where did you think you were going?”

  “No place,” said Luke.

  “What do you mean, no place?”