Catnip (29 page)

Farrell eased himself down and scratched his
head with his undamaged hand. “Well, it took some time to find
you,” he began. “After I got out of the hospital, we started a
manhunt all over Manhattan. It took us almost a week to find you.
That’s a record for us.”

His reply made Harry laugh. “It only took a
week? They found Hussein in less time.”

“That wasn’t our department,” the Fed said
quickly. “We usually work faster than they do.”

“So how did you find me?” Harry was genuinely
curious. He thought he’d covered his tracks well, but then again
there was always the chance he’d missed something and this time he
obviously had.

Farrell eyed him and shrugged. “You sent a
message from Nurmelev’s lab to your friend’s computer. We already
knew about Parham. He didn’t know where you were, so that was a
dead end. Then we traced the phone call you made from someone’s
cellphone up here. It wasn’t too difficult to lock on to your
location after that.”

Harry thought about Callaghan and he
regretted that so many people had to die in order for the truth to
be known. He was just grateful his girlfriend had survived.

Farrell kept up with the explanation. “You
told me to check on Nurmelev. On a hunch, I ran his name through
Interpol and found out he was a professor at a Russian university,
disappeared off the map more or less, and then,” he shrugged, “you
found him.”

“Actually, he found me,” Harry pointed
out.

The agent nodded. “Yeah, so he did. Anyway,
after the explosion at his lab, we got a phone call and sent a team
up. We figured you were dead, you and Anastasia, but the team found
no bodies other than his and what was left of the bear-guy. We
haven’t identified the latter suspect yet, but we will. There were
also a lot of other body parts we had to collect. That’ll keep us
busy for a while.”

The agent continued his story and also
mentioned the crazy mountain lady they’d interviewed. Harry laughed
silently. Granny Tillman would have some story to tell…he doubted
anyone would believe her, though.

Farrell stopped talking long enough to
scratch at the sores on his face. “As for this place, you came here
when the owners were on vacation. One of them drove back here the
night you arrived, informed the local police, they contacted us,
and we decided to let things play out, hoping you’d turn yourself
in.”

Harry stared at him. “So…are you here to
arrest me?”

The older man’s lips tightened and then he
shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m here for. We could, but
your research has been deemed of prime importance to this country,
and we don’t want anyone else getting their hands on you.”

Harry leaned back and allowed a small but
triumphant smile to emerge. Then he cut the smile. It hurt too
much. Still, there would be no more jail time, no more worries
about someone trying to assassinate him, and no more hassles…or was
he being too hasty? “So what do you want in return?”

Farrell said nothing for a moment. Instead of
answering the question, he looked around the cabin once more. “It’s
a pretty simple life up here, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded. Farrell would eventually tell
him what he wanted to know. “I’ve got enough. The fridge was fully
stocked when I came here. This place has electricity and there were
a few blankets in the bedroom closet. What more could I want?”

Then he cut his explanation short. He knew
that the FBI agent didn’t believe him. Stalling for time, he asked,
“Would you like something to drink? I don’t have much, just fresh
spring water, orange juice and…”

“Have you got any milk?” Farrell interrupted
with a slight smile on his weathered features.
Harry chuckled, even though the movement set off a wave of pain. He
knew what the agent was alluding to. “You don’t miss much. Is this
the part where you threaten me with jail time again, or do we spar
a little more verbally?”

Farrell got to his feet and brushed off some
hair. Short and gray, it clung to his suit, and he picked it off
strand by strand. Job done, he walked over to the bedroom door, but
didn’t open it. Instead, he turned around to gaze at the young
researcher who waited on the couch. “Look, what I said before
stands. I’m not here to arrest you. In fact, I’m here to thank you.
We just want to make sure what happened to Anastasia won’t be used
against anyone else.”

Harry got up and made his way over to the
door. “You’ve got my word I won’t be working for anyone else. I
can’t. All of my research was destroyed, and so was Nurmelev’s.
There’s no way we can reconstitute anything. And besides, you’re
still watching me.”

The agent favored him with a practiced smile,
the smile of a person who was used to dealing in subterfuge,
dealing with civilians who knew they’d be subjected to subterfuge,
and dealing with people who had secrets. “Yeah, we are.”

Harry caught the other man looking at the
computer. He cursed himself for not having saved the information.
At the very least, he should have closed the lid. Farrell’s smile
continued for a few seconds, and then he cleared his throat. “We
are going to watch you, Harry, and we intend to keep on watching
you. And I’ve been given orders to tell you you’re welcome to work
for us, in our labs, but under guard of course.”

Well, this was something to think about and
he considered the agent’s offer. “Can I think about it?”

“I don’t see the need to think so long, but
take your time. You’ve got two minutes.”

Ever the hardass
,
Harry thought. Well,
nothing much ever changed. What else was there to do? “So I get to
do whatever I want?” he asked.

He remained skeptical, but if there was one
thing he’d learned, it was trust. He did trust Farrell—up to a
point—but also knew he had to be careful from now on and the
agent’s next words underscored his sense of self-preservation.

“Within reason,” the agent nodded. “As I
said, we’ll have you under surveillance, which is standard for
anyone we employ, but your research is of prime importance to the
United States and all our allies. We don’t expect you to duplicate
your previous successes, but we ask that you try.”

Harry quickly calculated all the odds for and
against, and in the end he gave the agent the answer he’d been
hoping for. “All right, I’ll work for you on one condition.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want her with me. She doesn’t come, I
don’t either. You can stick me in jail and I’ll take my chances
there, but you’ll get nothing.”

The FBI agent sighed. “Let me see her.”

Harry pointed at the bedroom door, and
Farrell pushed it open. Inside, Anastasia sat on the bed, curled
up, and her tail swished gently. “That’s a cat,” he said.

Indeed it was. She’d reverted to her true
animal form, a cat with short gray hair, black spots, and a cute
face with high pointed ears. The agent went to side of the bed and
tentatively put out his hand. She responded by gently nuzzling his
fingers in order to get his scent, and purred as he stroked her
back. “This is her?” Farrell asked.

Harry gave him an offhand shrug. “She was
badly hurt during the explosion. I did what I could, but overnight
she devolved into what she is now. She’s of the Ussuri breed.
Pretty, isn’t she?”

He said it with a straight face and hoped the
agent would believe him. Farrell simply grunted. “Yeah, she’s nice
looking enough. I still prefer dogs, though.” A sigh escaped his
lips. “Well, that’s another lead shot to hell. I was hoping she’d
be able to brief us on some other top-secret Russian research.”

The last part—the part about Anastasia
devolving—wasn’t exactly true, although the Fed didn’t have to know
it. Yes, he
had
told the truth about her being injured, but
left out the fact that Anastasia happened to heal at least three
times as fast as an ordinary human. She’d taken the bandages off by
herself the next morning and lay on the bed as he checked her
wounds. “They’re not infected,” he’d said, with no small amount of
satisfaction.

She sniffed the air. “It smells clean here.
Are we still in the mountains?”

He nodded. “We’re still here. We’re in a
small cabin in the woods just a few miles from Nurmelev’s place. No
one’s around for at least five miles in every direction.”

She got up and stretched. She started to lick
her body in order to clean it, and then sniffed her fur. “It
doesn’t smell. Did you wash me?”

He felt the heat rush to his face. “You, uh,
you had a lot of blood in your, uh, fur, and I just, sort
of…sponged it off.”

She gave him a crooked smile and walked over
to his side. “Thank you,” she said, and her voice sounded like a
cross between a purr and a whisper. She started to nuzzle his face,
but when she got to his wounds he put his hand up to stop her and
she pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

“It still hurts.”

With gentle fingers, she caressed the wound.
“Your poor face,” she whispered.

“It’ll heal.”

She moved her head around to the undamaged
side and started to work her lips gently in and around his neck,
and he ducked his head down. “What’s wrong this time?” she
asked.

“It tickles.”

Anastasia then giggled and started to tickle
him, first on his ribs and then across his chest. “Let’s see if
you’re ticklish all over.”

He tried to fend her off—no, on second
thought, forget about it—caught her face in his hands, kissed her
on the lips, her claws sliced through his clothes and then…
oh
holy damn…

As the last of his clothing fell to the
floor, she pulled him onto the bed. “We don’t have much time, so
let’s remember this—now—before it’s too late.”

Harry nodded and his lips met hers in a rush
of love and affection and everything in between. First time
fumblings or not, eventually they found a rhythm and after it was
all over, they lay together, her arms around him, and she purred,
yes, purred contentedly.

He stroked the side of her body and reflected
on where his journey had taken him. His rite of passage had finally
come and he didn’t think it unusual or strange or anything else.
Fur or not, Anastasia was still a woman, and he cared for her. She
suddenly wiped her eyes and turned her head away. “What is it?” he
wanted to know.

“I’m changing,” she said softly and her voice
had a catch in it. “I’m devolving. I can feel it.”

He’d known this moment would come and felt as
if his heart would break. Cliché or not, he wished they had more
time! “Anastasia, I’ll do what I can for you, I promise, but I need
the equipment and that…”

His words stopped when she rolled over to him
and gently placed her hand on his lips. The hand had already
started to morph into a cat’s paw, and he mentally calculated it
would only be a matter of days—perhaps hours—until the transition
was complete. “I’ll wait,” she said. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” he answered and kissed her back.
“Is it okay to say I love you?”

He’d said it before and now he meant it in
the worst way. He’d never been in love before, but now he felt
justified in telling her. Who cared what she looked like? To him,
she was a woman and yes, he was totally into her. That’s what love
meant.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

And so, after asking Jason to send Nurmelev’s
files back to him, for the next two days he worked day and night on
his calculations, made notes, ran scenarios…and fifty hours after
their first and only encounter she told him that the change would
happen any minute. “So soon?” he asked and cursed the
inevitable.

“Hold me,” Anastasia begged, and he hugged
her while she slowly but steadily devolved. He heard her bones
cracking and reforming, but she didn’t cry out, although she
writhed and struggled as if to stop the transformation. She
steadily shrank in size and an hour after the process had begun, it
was over. In his arms lay a sleeping cat. He put her down on the
bed and for the first time in a long time, he sat there and
cried.

He cried for all the people lost. Doug,
Callaghan, the unknown experiments in the mad Russian’s lab, and
yes, Anastasia, he cried for her most of all. They’d had their
lives taken away and been given no choice, and they’d ended their
days in misery and death. He resolved there would be no more
experiments done…except one.

Now he stood in the doorway and watched as
Farrell rubbed the cat’s back and she purred, tilted over to lie on
her side and gently batted his fingers with a closed paw. She
seemed to take great delight in playing with the agent’s hand as he
dangled it over top of her and gave a growl of mock
frustration.

Then, like all cats were wont to do, she
abruptly stopped her play and curled up, closed her eyes, and soon
fell asleep, her breathing rhythmic and quiet. Farrell watched her
for a few moments and then got up from the bed.

Harry noticed that his minder’s face looked
disappointed, but also observed that the agent masked his emotions
well. Yes, he’d have to be careful from now on.

“So she’s just a simple housecat now?” the
agent asked.

“Yeah, that’s all.”

Farrell brushed a few strands of hair off his
pants and jacket. A ghost of a smile escaped his lips. “Just a
simple housecat,” he murmured. “All right, you’ll have a briefing
in two days. I’ll be around in the morning on Thursday to pick you
up. We’ll set up an apartment for you in Manhattan, and whatever
you need we’ll give you, within reason.”

He walked to the entrance and paused to turn
around. This time, he wore a genuine smile. “Oh, and you can bring
the cat, too.”

After Farrell drove off, Harry waited until
the sound of the car’s engine faded. The quiet of the area calmed
him down. A smell of fresh pine hit his nostrils, and then the
sounds of the summer insects waking up to begin a new day came
through to his ears. Ahead of him lay only the forest and he heard
the sound of the occasional traveler motoring through, but no one
stopped and he saw nothing suspicious.