Rise of the Transgenics (12 page)

“I thought so,” Maze said, triumph lacing
every word. “Most of the files on him have been erased, but this
one was floating around in another scientist’s résumé.”

“Who is it?” Anastasia wanted to know.

Maze tapped a few more keys, but the screen
remained frozen on Nurmelev’s image. She tried again and the screen
shifted briefly, but the image of the dead Russian scientist
remained. “Whoever is running this,” she said, “doesn’t want any
info on Nurmelev getting out. I had to go through the Kremlin in
order to get this.”

While it wasn’t what Harry had hoped for, it
was something, and he scanned the information in front of him.

Pavel Nurmelev, born in Kiev, died...no
information. Educated at the University of Moscow...advanced
degrees in biology, biochemistry...applied science...worked at the
university in a research capacity...recruited by the KGB,
1981...stationed in Siberia...known acquaintances...

The information stopped at that point, but
another question mark popped up, followed by the letter G. “What
does G stand for?” Jason wanted to know.

“It could stand for anything,” Anastasia
remarked, her immediate anger gone for the moment. Only an icy
demeanor remained as she stared at the screen with extreme
distaste. “It could mean a name, the name of a program the KGB or
its affiliates ran, or something else. There’s no way of
knowing.”

Mini-speech over, she went over to plop down
on the couch. “You didn’t get a location, did you?” Harry
asked.

Tap-tap-tap went the keys and this time, a
picture popped up. It was instantly recognizable—Chernobyl.
“They’re doing the experiments there?” he asked.

“They’re doing
something
there,” Maze
said with certainty. “All the links I tried took me to this same
image. It might be a cover or it might be the real thing. But,” she
paused to root through the bag, found one more chocolate and
stuffed it in her mouth, “assuming that it
is
on the real,
then it could be anything, not necessarily transgenic
experiments.”

A perturbed look suddenly crossed her
features. “This picture, it...wait a second. I think I’ve seen this
picture before.”

Her fingers danced on the keyboard, and after
a few seconds, she nodded, satisfied. “It’s a trick,” she said.
“Look.”

Another identical shot of Chernobyl came
up...a Wikipedia picture. “I thought it looked sort of familiar,”
she said. “Whoever’s running this program, they’re playing some
kind of game.”

All of this confused Harry. “So, are you
saying that it isn’t Chernobyl?”

Maze shook her head. “No, what I’m saying is
that it’s
probably
the place you’re looking for, but this
could be some kind of,” she paused to search for the word,
“uh...misdirection. It’s like whoever’s in charge wants the world
to look, but doesn’t want them to really know. That’s why they put
up the picture, to mislead people, just in case someone like me
hacked into their system.”

“They can’t trace you, can they?” Anastasia
asked.

Maze gave her a smug look. “I’ve got blocks
in place. Any attempt to try will lead them to a dark place on the
Internet. I call it the terminal toilet. It’s a site I designed
that contains only viruses, and they are not friendly, if you know
what I mean. They haven’t got a chance.”

“Told you she was good,” Jason chimed in.

“I’m the best,” Maze declared, and then
turned her attention back to the computer. “It’s definitely
Chernobyl, but for all I know, they’re studying the after-effects
of radiation poisoning. This place is still a hotspot if the papers
are telling the truth. I can’t do anything else. I’ve been shut
out. What I showed you before... that was as far as I could
go.”

Thanking her, he went over to the couch and
sat down. Anastasia took his hand in hers and held it tightly.
“Thanks for getting me this far,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t have
known where to check.”

A knock disturbed the moment of quiet, and
Maze got a look of alarm on her face. “Are we expecting any
company?”

Jason went to the window and peered out. “Oh,
crap, someone must have seen Anastasia,” he whispered in a fierce
undertone. “The police are here. There’s a cruiser outside.
Hide!”

Another knock sounded, presumably from the
rear door. They were bracketed, and Maze let out a squawk and
quickly stabbed a button on the computer. Instantly, all the files
disappeared from the screen and she pointed to the second floor. “I
just got rid of the information,” she said in a harsh whisper.
“They won’t know anything. There’s a small attic on the second
floor, end of the hall to the left. Door’s there, there’s a small
set of stairs. Use it.”

Immediately, Harry grabbed Anastasia’s hand
and they took off as quickly and quietly as possible. He only hoped
that the police wouldn’t search the house—and then just as quickly
remembered that the FBI knew about Jason, or at least, Farrell did.
He wasn’t sure if anyone else had been included in the loop.

Skittering up the stairs, they found the door
that led to the attic, and taking care not to make any noise, they
entered. Inside, they immediately had to crouch down to their knees
as the ceiling was no more than four feet high. It was filled with
numerous boxes of books and clothes, and when Harry brushed against
one of them, it fell over and a cloud of dust arose. Anastasia
sneezed, and then covered her mouth, a guilty look written all over
her face. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Searching for another way out, he saw there
was none save a small window at the back of the room, which
overlooked the backyard. “Can you make it through?” Anastasia
asked.

“No.” It was too small. There was no way he
could squeeze through.

Nervously, they waited for the inevitable
sounds of the authorities banging on the door. “Open up!” one voice
yelled. His voice, loud, rough, and demanding cut through the air.
“We’re looking for a short, slight teenager along with someone who
looks like a cat-girl.”

“You’re talking about a cat-girl?” they heard
Maze say. She was really putting on the polite teenager act. “No
sir, we haven’t seen anyone fitting that description.”

“Is that so?”

The voice sounded heavy, rough, and
impatient, and it made Harry think that someone knew he was here. A
second later, he realized that someone
had
traced Farrell’s
car license. That had to be the reason they were here. A fine sweat
broke out on his forehead, but he kept still. There was nowhere
else to go.

A second later, the sound of shouts along
with the echo of the door slamming against the wall resounded
through the house. “Hey!” Maze yelled, “You can’t come in here
without a warrant!”

“Move aside, young lady, or else I’ll take
you in, too.” The policeman’s voice sounded more than a little
angry. With a sinking heart Harry knew that the law was about to be
trampled on, all in the name of public safety. They were after the
wrong person, but no way were they going to believe him.

Now footsteps, thudding and loud, echoed
heavily in his ears, and the sound drew closer. The cops were
coming! “Go,” he whispered to Anastasia.

“I won’t leave you,” she whispered back,
holding him tightly. “I won’t!”

This was not the time to be noble, he
thought. “You have to. I can’t make it, but you can. Go,” he urged,
and just as the door opened and light flooded in, he heard the
sound of glass breaking and knew she’d managed to get out.

Light flooded the area, making him blink. The
large form of a policeman appeared in the doorway. “Harry Goldman,”
he intoned, “you’re under arrest.”

The cop’s voice sounded satisfied. Job well
done and now he could sit down and enjoy Miller time. Harry knew
that there would be no escape for him, but at the very least, his
girlfriend was safe.

The officer made a perfunctory search of the attic
with his flashlight, but he was a very large man and there wasn’t
much room for him to maneuver. A sound of frustration came out of
his mouth when he saw the broken glass and he immediately spoke
into his walkie-talkie, “Subject escaped through the window. Be
advised that she is very dangerous, use deadly force if
necessary.”

After wriggling out of the attic, he cursed
and dragged Harry out, tossing him down the stairs. Hitting the
wall with a crash, Harry slowly got to his feet, his back and head
sending stabs of sickening pain all over his body. Police brutality
wasn’t for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his
friends watching in silence and the cop grabbed his shoulder in a
painful grip and ushered him over to the door. This was definitely
not the moment he’d been hoping for.

“What are you going to do to him?” Maze
asked, hand over her mouth. “Where are you taking him?”

The policeman didn’t answer immediately. She
repeated the question and ran over to block the door. “Where are
you taking him?”

For a moment, the cop’s hand strayed to his
holster. Instead of taking his gun out, he shoved her aside roughly
and said, “If you’re smart, you’ll testify against this punk. If
you’re not, you’ll end up in jail just like him.”

Harry caught the expression on their faces,
one of total disillusionment combined with helplessness. No mirror
was around, but he figured that his face probably wore the same
look. A few of the residents had come out to watch the action, and
one of them cheered, waving his hand and yelling “Nice arrest!”
before his wife told him to stop and made him put his hand
down.

“Move it,” the officer ordered, and tossed
Harry into the back seat of the police cruiser. He got in beside
him, slammed the door, and told his partner, “Let’s go.”

The journey to the station downtown took
thirty minutes, and during the journey, Harry sat quietly, hopeful
that Anastasia had gotten away unscathed. It was a sure bet that
the police would be searching in and around Inwood Park, but he
doubted they’d catch her. She was too fast, too strong, and too
smart. The only question that remained was where she would go.

As for his friend and Maze, he wondered what
would happen to them. He asked the cop beside him, and the answer
came quickly. “We’re not after them. We were after you. You stole
an FBI agent’s car, so add that to killing two men. Right now, I’d
advise you to shut up and listen to me read you your rights. If you
say so much as one word, I will slam you one, you got that? Killing
cops is something I wouldn’t mind taking revenge for.”

It probably never occurred to this guy that
it would have been impossible for any person to have gutted the
agents in such a manner. However, the policeman didn’t look to be
in a mood to listen to any excuses or any details, so Harry just
kept his mouth shut.

Officer Mean proceeded to read him his
rights, and once finished, said, “I’m going to assume that you
understood what I just said, so just nod your dumbass head and say
nothing.”

Harry nodded. This day was not going well at
all.

After reaching the precinct, the cop pulled
him out of the car and marched him up the steps in front of a group
of bystanders. Some of the onlookers took a few snapshots with
their cellphones. Selfies, why did they always have to take
selfies? While they marched along, the cop who’d made the arrest
asked, “You’re not going to cause us any trouble, are you,
killer?”

“I’m not a killer,” Harry answered, breaking
his code of silence.

The policeman uttered a harsh laugh. “That’s
what they all say.” At the height of perhaps six-four and massive
all over, he had a round face with plain features and while it
would ordinarily have had a mild look to it, it was offset by a
shock of red hair and a nasty grin. “You notice that I didn’t cuff
you in the car, and I’m giving you some freedom here, so consider
that a little trust on my end.”

Once they got inside the station, though, he
let fly with a swat to the side of Harry’s head with a ham-sized
hand. The impact rocked Harry back on his heels and nearly took him
off his feet. A few people, cops as well as civilians, watched the
scene go down, but said nothing. It seemed that they were used to
the cops smacking suspects around.

“Is that your idea of trust?” he asked in a
bitter voice. Weren’t the police supposed to observe a hands-off
policy in situations like these? No...upon further reflection, he
knew that they wouldn’t. He was a wanted suspect, an alleged
killer. The police wouldn’t understand.

“My trust only goes so far,” the redheaded
policeman said. He indicated the other cop who’d come in with them,
another man-mountain, olive-skinned, and with a pinched face that
seemed to have a permanent sneer on it. “And I’m going to add that
if you try anything with me and my partner,” he added, “we will be
only too happy to exact a little justice on behalf of those two
agents you killed.”

“Didn’t kill anyone,” Harry muttered
sullenly. He touched the side of his head. It felt halfway caved
in, but showing pain wasn’t on the menu. “You wouldn’t believe me
if I told you.”

Both cops stared at him with looks that read
please give us an excuse to hurt you very badly
.
Officer Mean chortled, “No, we wouldn’t.”

The booking room was full of the usual
suspects, drunks, hookers, and tattooed members of some biker gang
with long hair, jean jackets and pants. They yelled as one that
they were innocent. “Yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” one of the
policemen stated in a voice that cut through the air and
temporarily stopped the noise.

It soon resumed, louder than before, but not
everyone was screaming. There were a few people sitting on the
floor, mainly teens, and he noticed them staring out at reality in
a stoner’s hazy daze.