Bartok pulled the sheet over the head of the corpse and slid the tray back into the cigar tube. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, lit one and blew out a plume of blue-gray smoke. Anastasia pulled a face. “You have to do that here?”
“I will smoke near a vent.”
He took an ashtray from the table, went to the corner and pressed a button. The sound of a whirring fan started. The offending smoke got sucked away. He waved them to the chairs, and they sat down and waited while he smoked in silence. Finally, he ground out the butt in the ashtray.
Upon taking his seat at the table, he let out a sigh. “We had heard of secret laboratories and experiments in the past, but were never able to find them. It was a certainty that the research was exclusively Russian.”
“How do you know that?” Harry asked.
Bartok cast a quick glance at Farrell. “Your American superior provided me with the documents. They indicated that this research goes back as far as your father. Is that correct?”
“Yeah, it is.” Harry’s father had been one of the foremost transgenic researchers in the world up until roughly one year earlier, but he’d confined his research to fruits and vegetables. After he passed away prematurely from cancer, Harry had continued the research, furthered it, but he’d never tried to combine human and animal DNA. The Russians had, and monstrosities were the result. “I guess I’m the resident expert here.”
“You contacted the Russians, though, right?” asked Anastasia, breaking through Harry’s moment of self-reflection. She then shut up as Farrell speared her with a glance that read I’m conducting this investigation. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“Well?” Farrell prompted.
Bartok gave a brief nod. “We did, but they are having troubles of their own. They’ve had twice as many deaths as we have in the last few months. They can only share information, the information they have received from you. There have been other reports from Serbia. We...” a look of fear temporarily crossed his normally stoic features, “do not know what to do.”
Harry and Anastasia exchanged glances. Clearly, these guys were out of their depth. “So what do you want us to do?” Harry asked. “We’ve heard that there were about thirty-five other transgenics here, from, uh, sources.”
“Who told you that?”
“The FBI, the other European allies...”
Harry’s voice stopped when Istvan tugged on his arm. With an almost imperceptible wave of his hand, Istvan indicated that he’d also given over the information. “I also told the American authorities what I saw, sir,” he squeaked out. His voice trembled as he spoke. “I was at the lab, I saw what happened to the others and—”
“You did not come to me!” Bartok thundered. “Why didn’t you come forth?”
The conversation then turned heated with both Hungarians speaking in their own native language, gesticulating and shouting. The Major General did most of the shouting and banged his fist on the table repeatedly. Surprisingly, Istvan stood his ground. The argument went back and forth until finally Bartok threw up his hands, his face suffused with blood. “This little man is obstinate.”
“Well, if he’d have come to you first,” Harry chimed in, attempting to head off a major row, “what would you have done? He’d be in a research lab, picked apart or stared at all day. Can you blame him?”
Bartok breathed in and out heavily and uttered a sigh of defeat. “You are correct. We will go on his information. This is where we will stay tonight. I will also stay and go with you tomorrow, to provide logistical support.”
He arose and gestured with his hand to follow him. “This way, please. There is a lounge on the second floor. There are also rooms where the attendants stay during night duty. It is not hotel luxury, but it will be comfortable enough for tonight.”
He led them up the stairs to a spot where a number of couches and chairs sat on an old and stained carpet. Istvan asked about food. “We do not have time to eat now,” Bartok replied. “I will bring something tomorrow morning.”
His answer didn’t satisfy Istvan, as he parked his butt on the nearest couch, muttering to himself. Bartok turned to leave. “I must talk with your superior alone. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
After he left, Anastasia took Harry’s hand and led him down the hallway. In the privacy of an alcove, she whispered, “I’ve still got a bad feeling over this.”
“You mean Bartok?”
She shook her head. “No, not him, I’m thinking about Istvan.”
Oh, not that again, Harry thought. He trusted his girlfriend, but she seemed to be too overcautious. Istvan wasn’t the enemy, Szabo and whoever else was behind him was. “Listen, we’ll crash here for tonight, go to the forest tomorrow and see what we can find. If Istvan does something weird, we’ll go on without him. Okay?”
A soft purr came from her. “Yeah,” she whispered in a dreamy voice as she reached up to kiss him. “That’s okay with me. I’m going to check out where we’re going to sleep. I’m tired.”
While she went on the search, Harry wandered back to the lounge. Istvan had already fallen asleep on a couch, snoring away. Farrell and Bartok were deep in conversation. Harry also needed to crash, but forced himself to stay awake. If this was news, then he needed to hear this. “What’s going on?” he called out and walked over.
Both men stopped talking when Harry got within range. A chime sounded. Bartok pulled out a cellphone, excused himself and walked a few feet away. “We were just going over our plan for tomorrow,” Farrell said.
“So what’s the deal?”
Bartok came back wearing a slightly relieved look. “I have new information about this Szabo and the others. I must coordinate with my office. You will be safe here. I will pick you up early tomorrow morning, at five. Then we go to the forest.”
He strode down the hallway and Farrell offered a shrug. “He’ll give us more info tomorrow.” A yawn escaped his lips. “I’m tired, and you look beat. Get some rest, kid.”
With a resigned sigh, Harry returned to the spot where Anastasia had been waiting. She was nowhere in sight. “Hey, where’d you go?” he called out.
Her voice came from a room two doors away. “I’m over here.”
Three steps took him to the room and she met him at the door, her yellow eyes gazing at him questioningly, the question of what did you find plain to see. He shook his head. “We’ll know more tomorrow. Let’s crash.”
“Good idea,” she said as she took his arm and led him inside. “I set things up.”
Anastasia had put two cots together along with some blankets. Farrell wandered by the room as they were about to turn in and said that he’d stand watch. “You two get some sleep,” he urged.
“That’s considerate of him,” remarked Anastasia sourly after the door closed.
Harry figured she still felt miffed about the sudden you-look-different treatment. He couldn’t blame her. He felt the same way. Still... “You could cut him a little slack,” he said. “He’s on our side, you know? He got your citizenship papers, didn’t he?”
A tiny smile crossed Anastasia’s face. “Yeah, that’s a good thing. You’re right.”
After putting two cots together, they lay down and Anastasia soon passed out. While this setting should have been peaceful, instead, Harry felt a sense of uneasiness. It churned in his gut, something that made him scared and thoughtful at the same time. Something was coming, and it wasn’t good.
Bartok came for them the next morning, promptly at five. Harry heard his footsteps and a knock came at the door. “It is time to go,” he said. “The car is downstairs.”
“Time to get up,” Harry said, shaking his girlfriend’s arm.
Instantly, she came awake, wide-eyed and alert. “I’m on it. Let’s go.”
They went downstairs and exited, only to find that their superiors as well as Istvan had already entered the car. No one was around at this time of day. For a moment, Harry felt a sense of normalcy. To walk around a
nd not be noticed... anonymity ruled.
Stifling a yawn, Harry noted the chill in the air, looked up as the faintest streaks of light began to appear in the sky, and got in. Farrell looked particularly disheveled. His suit was rumpled and creased and his eyes were bloodshot. As Bartok started out and drove along the road, they faced very little traffic save for a few vans delivering their goods and some early morning commuters.
During the ride, Bartok passed back a bag filled with various kinds of bread. The transgenic trio took their share and ate quietly. For his part, Istvan said nothing, but as they neared the forest, he began to fidget. “I do not like this place,” he said and switched over to muttering in Hungarian.
Bartok snapped back a retort and the little man stopped talking. A sullen look appeared on his face. Harry figured that this wasn’t going to be a bro-type kind of relationship, but said nothing. For the next hour, everyone observed the rule of silence as the concrete and steel of the city gave way to forests and rolling hills of the countryside.
“We are here,” Bartok announced as he stopped the car. “This is a national forest, and we are less than six kilometers from Szekszard.”
Exiting the car with the others, Harry looked upon a vast forest with a river that stretched beyond his field of vision. “That is the Danube,” Bartok said and pointed in tour-guide mode. “It has flooded the area. The tourist office has set up a number of guided tours along with boat tours to this area. However, it is still early.” He looked at his watch. “It is only six-thirty, so we will not be seen.”
As they trampled along, Bartok and Farrell in the lead, Harry observed the tall trees and lush vegetation with a careful eye and ear, watching and listening for anything unusual. A few deer popped their heads out from time to time and he heard the scratching sound of beetles as they scaled the trees and branches. The gamy smell of whatever had to be living here came through, but he didn’t smell Szabo. That thing had an entirely different odor, one that made him think of something already dead.
Istvan mentioned that a lot of animals lived in the wild. “We have many different kinds of animals here. There are elk, boar, falcons... more,” he said in a low voice and darted nervous looks left and right. He even craned his neck skyward, as if expecting something to drop in and snatch him away. “I can smell them, but I cannot smell the others.”
Anastasia also took the opportunity to do the sightseeing thing. She sniffed around, checking out the trees, under rocks and logs, and then nodded at Harry. “There’s nothing unusual...” she said, but her voice abruptly trailed away and she stood on her toes, testing the air with her nose. “I got something.”
Immediately the rest of the group halted. Harry also picked up on the smell. It was like dead animals, rotting in the sun, dried blood and entrails and decay. He remembered the smells from previous encounters with the mad scientists and their failed experiments. Now, the same smell entered his nostrils.
“Are we close to the lab?” asked Anastasia. She directed the question at Istvan, who’d begun to tremble.
“Yes.” He pointed to their left. “It is in that section of the forest. We must go there.”
Advancing around two hundred yards, Istvan dropped to all fours and began to snuffle around. He came to a spot and tapped the ground. It gave off a metallic echo. “This is it,” he said, looking as if he was about to cry.
Bartok took the lead, walked over and felt around where Istvan had indicated. He grabbed onto something. It was a heavy chain coated with rust and he pulled. The sound of grating metal split the air and a door slid open on squeaky hinges. This, too, had been rusted by time and age, but it opened the portal to a world of hurt and madness. “Let’s go,” Bartok said. He took out his pistol. Farrell did the same.
The way down was black, but Bartok had a flashlight and it lit the way. The air, musty and cool, clung to Harry’s body and he shivered. Istvan started muttering in Hungarian and Anastasia began to growl. They were entering enemy territory.
Their descent continued. Along with the computer readings, Istvan had indicated that the lab was approximately one mile below the surface. As they got deeper, Harry’s sense of unease grew. The smells of death also got stronger and heavier. Finally, they reached the bottom. Bartok swung the flashlight around and found a light switch. “Maybe this works,” he said.
Immediately, the area lit up. The smell hit Harry right away, the smell of charred flesh, chemicals, burned rubber and more. Apparently, Anastasia also found the smells objectionable, as she wrinkled her nose at the stench and asked, “God, what happened?”
They’d entered an area the size of a school gymnasium. Lights had been strung overhead and emitted a sickly yellow glow. Everything had been gutted by the fire. Burn marks along with bones, animal and otherwise, were the only things left that indicated people had once been here.
Istvan immediately started to shake. Bartok uttered a series of sharp sentences. If they were intended to give the little man courage, they had their effect, as Istvan drew in a deep breath and stood erect. The trembling stopped, but a faint sheen of sweat had popped out on his forehead. “This was lab where they hurt me,” he said. Pointing with his hoof, he added, “The cells are ahead.”
Once again, Bartok took the lead with his gun still out. They walked down a corridor. Their feet made hollow sounds. On either side of them were cells with the remains of the changed inside them. Istvan began to cry, a terribly empty, snuffling sound. “These were the other experiments,” he sobbed.
If they were experiments, they hadn’t turned out very well. People with hunchbacks, two heads, four legs and other nightmarish visions assaulted his eyes. Anastasia’s growls of anger got louder, the hair on her shoulders standing up.
“What are we looking for?” Harry finally asked.
“Anything useful,” Farrell answered in a very quiet voice.
The group spent another twenty minutes searching for clues. Harry went to one of the labs and searched through the mess on a table of smashed beakers, metal and glass. As he searched, his mind traveled back to his early days of research. Looking through electron microscopes, checking cells, he had beheld the miracle that people called life, all at his fingertips.
His father at his side, Marvin Goldman, a short and slender man, had pointed out to the young Harry all the possibilities ensconced in a single strand of DNA. “This, son, is where it all begins. This is where you get your strength, intelligence and life. Study it, learn it... know it.”
As Harry ran his simulations, in a moment of youthful naiveté, he’d realized that life could be changed, enhanced, diseases cured... all with a simple manipulation of this or that gene. At the time, it never occurred to him that it could be perverted and used for evil purposes.
With a start, he came back to the present and knew that his research had indeed been twisted. An intense feeling of guilt overwhelmed him. Although he couldn’t be held accountable, he was still part of this.
Casting his gaze around the smashed laboratory, he saw no life there, only death, and he longed to leave, but the search was not yet finished. He continued looking for clues. Nothing useful turned up until he found a computer disc. He put it in his pocket and rejoined the others.
In another larger room, they found the remains of smashed Genesis Chambers, operating tables and the remains of food long ago eaten by cockroaches and flies. However, they found no evidence of recent entrance. This was an abandoned charnel house and nothing more. Finally, Bartok called a halt to things. “We have found nothing here. Whoever was here, they have already gone.”
Harry recalled the man saying something about new information. He took out the disc and handed it over. “I found this is one of the rooms.”
Bartok’s eyebrows arched and he pocketed the disc. “It might have some information on it. I will check it later on.”
He began to leave, and Harry put out his hand to stop him. “You said last night that you had some contacts.”
“I will tell
you all on the surface. Let us leave this place.” Bartok looked around with an uneasy expression on his face and pulled at his collar. “I do not like it here. It smells of death.”
That seemed to sum up the situation. On the way out, Harry spotted something scratched into the wall. It was forradalom. “What does that mean?” he asked Istvan.
The little pig-man got a look of fear on his face. “It means revolution.”
Revolution for whom, Harry wondered, and then ran to catch up with the others. Up on the surface, Bartok closed the door. It shut with a resounding screech. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat down on a stump.
Farrell scanned the area, but shook his head. “I don’t have enhanced senses,” he said. “Anastasia, Harry, can you smell or hear anything?”
Harry tested the air, but came up with nothing save the usual smell of trampled leaves, dirt and assorted animal droppings. Anastasia had begun her own scan of the area, sniffing around. Istvan was doing the same thing, except that he was snuffling on the ground on all fours, like a pig rooting out truffles. More than a little envious, Harry watched as they went through their maneuvers. “You guys got anything?”
“I’m not sure,” Anastasia answered, still sampling the air. Her nostrils dilated and expanded as if she was able to separate odor from odor. “It’s not like anything I’ve smelled before.” She turned to Istvan. “What do you think it is?”
“It is a bird,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “It is a very large one.”
Last time she’d said something about smelling something different, they’d ended up with Istvan in tow, Harry mused. This time, who knew?
Silence reigned and Bartok lit a cigarette. Farrell said, “Last night you said something about new information. What is it? And if this is Russian handiwork, why are we here?”
Bartok puffed away, finished his cigarette and dropped the butt, grinding it under his foot. “During the Cold War, Hungary was an ally of the old Soviet Union. Our scientists, professors, athletes... we all collaborated with the Russians in order to achieve results.” He practically spat out the last word. “One of those results was in the field of athletics.”
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