The Arx (38 page)

She nodded at Frank. “And we can’t take the chance that he’ll tell them what he knows. We might still be able to locate Carson’s information.”

Dogan studied her, considering her logic. The intense animal stare hadn’t left his eyes.

“Better kill them,” she said.

Frank glanced over at Rebecca. Dogan was several steps away and she’d been left unguarded.

“Run!” Frank yelled at her. She turned and vaulted for the tunnel. Carla took two steps, caught her, and dragged her back.

It was Frank’s only chance. He dove at the Alpha of Genesis, knocking him off balance. Dogan straightened and turned, his thin face framed by his graying hair as he gave Frank a lopsided grin. It brought back the chilling images from Retigo’s journal.

Dogan glanced at his knife on the floor, then at the gun beside Miles’s body, but didn’t move to get them. Instead he sprang at Frank like a wild animal. Though Dogan was wounded Frank was no match. Dogan head-butted the bridge of his nose and he nearly passed out with the pain. He fell to his knees, swaying, moving in and out of consciousness.

“Kill him or take him with us,” Carla said.

Dogan seemed oblivious to her, consumed by blood-lust.

“Get up,” he said to Frank. He was smiling.

It’s a game for him,
Frank
thought.

Frank stayed where he was. If he could stall long enough maybe the police would show up, or Dogan would lose enough blood to pass out. Blood still dripped steadily from his wound.

“Get up!” Dogan yelled. He stepped forward, grabbed Frank by the collar, and hauled him to his feet.

Frank wobbled in place, the image of Dogan a blur.

If I don’t play, he’ll kill me,
he thought.

“Finish him or I will!” Carla yelled.

Dogan staggered slightly. He was only off balance for a fraction of a second, but he was losing it.

My turn to win the acting award,
Frank thought.

Frank stared ahead blankly, swaying, eyes half-closed, like he was about to collapse. He guessed that the Arx’s predatory instincts would compel them to deliver the killing stroke to a prey live and struggling, not unconscious and still.

With his good arm, Dogan grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. Frank sagged so that Dogan was forced to take most of his weight.

Frustrated, Dogan transferred Frank’s body to his bad arm, and drew back his good one, preparing to slap him awake. At the moment his arm reached its maximum backward trajectory, Frank straightened up, hauled back and punched with all his strength on Dogan’s wounded shoulder. Blood spattered everywhere. Dogan screamed in pain, but recovered and exploded toward him.

Frank had thought he’d understood what he was up against, but he was stunned by the speed of his opponent. Before he even was aware what was happening Dogan’s good arm was wrapped around his neck. Dogan squeezed, and Frank felt the air choked out of his windpipe. The blood pounded in his ears.

“Frank!” Rebecca screamed.

Dogan lifted him into the air by his head.

This is it,
Frank thought.

He was about to pass out. He heard footsteps close by, and there was movement on the periphery of his vision. He tried to focus. Was it a dream?

“Drop him!” the voice of Sergeant Reid yelled.

Dogan spun around, still holding Frank. Now facing the newcomers, Frank recognized Reid, Terry Hastings, and Art Crawford, followed by what looked like part of an Emergency Response team.

“Do you want me to snap his neck?” Dogan said. He squeezed tighter and Frank almost blacked out.

“It’s over,” Reid said.

“It’s never over,” Dogan answered him.

He backed away toward the tunnel, his arm still wrapped around Frank’s neck, holding him in front as a human shield. Reid and the others stood with their guns trained on him.

Still barely conscious, Frank fought to clear his head. The room was awash in red, like blood was being pumped into his eyes. He glanced to his left and could just make out the wound in Dogan's shoulder, still dripping blood. Frank’s arms were free, waving at his sides.

He focused his consciousness on one act. If it failed it would be the last act of his life. He replayed it several times in his mind; he would only have one chance to get it right.

Finally he was ready. Drawing on every iota of his remaining strength he threw his right arm across his own chest and jammed his thumb into the center of Dogan's wound. He felt the wet squish of blood as it hit home. Something snapped and Frank’s hand was racked with such excruciating pain he almost lost consciousness.

Dogan screamed. His grip loosened and Frank dropped to the floor.

Somewhere deep within a blackness that was close to death, Frank heard a gunshot. He dragged his mind back into awareness and looked up.

Reid’s gun was pointing at Dogan. The Arx leader had been shot, but was still moving. Reid fired again, and Dogan collapsed at his feet.

Frank lay gasping on the floor. Reid assigned a guard to watch Dogan and he and the others rushed over.

“Are you okay?” Terry said, crouching over Frank.

Frank fought his way back to consciousness and caught his breath. With difficulty, he turned his head and scanned around.

“Rebecca,” he whispered.

Terry followed his gaze. “Who? There’s nobody else here.”

Frank struggled up on one elbow. Terry was right.

“Carla,” he croaked. “She’s got Rebecca.”

In the Holy of Holies

Frank struggled to his feet. His right arm was paralyzed with searing pain. He stared down at it. The thumb was bent at an impossible angle. A piece of bone had broken through the skin. The hand was bleeding steadily.

Frank held it up. The pain was blinding.

“Fix it,” he said to Terry.

“What?” Terry said. “Forget it – we’ll get you to a medic.”

“No time…” Frank said, clenching his teeth. “Do it now.”

Terry stared at him.

“Do it!” Frank yelled.

Terry cringed as he grabbed Frank’s wrist. “Get ready,” he said.

Frank nodded and closed his eyes. His body exploded with agony as Terry pushed the broken thumb back into position. Frank staggered sideways and fought against blacking out. In a few seconds the pain diminished and he got his breath.

Terry tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped the hand tightly.

“Carla De Leon,” Frank whispered. “The leader of the Savants. She’s got Rebecca. We gotta go after her.”

“Where?” Terry asked.

Frank hesitated. He glanced at the gaping mouth of the tunnel.

“We’ve got it sealed off,” Reid said. “They couldn’t go that way.”

Frank’s brain was still in a fog of pain and depleted oxygen. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Finally his mind was clear.

“I think I know,” he said.

He rifled through Dogan's pockets with his good hand and came up with the electronic fob. He searched the floor for Miles's gun, found it, and shoved it in his belt.

“Follow me,” he said.

“You’re in no shape to go anywhere,” said Reid. “Just tell us and we’ll go after her.”

Frank ignored him and sped down the hallway and through the door to the boardroom. They left the man guarding Dogan. Frank led them to the elevator and used the fob to get to the basement.

As soon as they stepped from the elevator a pair of guards outside the door of the computer room started firing.

Frank and the others dove behind a corner. The ERT cops stormed the doorway. After a short firefight the defenders went down. Frank’s group rushed to join the team at the door. Frank poked his head around the jamb.

Carla stood against the far wall, holding Rebecca in front of her as a shield, surrounded by several guards. Her right arm was wrapped around Rebecca’s neck. Rebecca’s eyes bulged as she struggled to get free. One of the guards held a wallet-sized electronic device in his hand.

“Now!” Carla yelled.

The guard started to punch something on the keyboard of the device. An ERT cop stepped out and fired. The guard’s body snapped back and he dropped the device. Frank pulled his head in as the remaining Arx fighters opened fire and the ERT man went down.

They were at an impasse. He glanced over at Reid, who motioned toward one of the ERT cops. The man pointed to a stun grenade hanging from his belt. Frank nodded. The man unhooked the grenade and tossed it into the room. A shock wave radiated through the open doorway as it exploded with a blinding flash.

“Wait!” Reid shouted as Frank dashed in ahead of them.

A white cloud of smoke swirled around the room. Through the haze Frank saw the guards lying on the floor. There was no sign of Carla and Rebecca. As the smoke cleared he spotted them, in a doorway at the far end of the room. In Carla’s left hand was the device the guard had held earlier.

Frank rushed forward until he was almost within reach. Carla tightened her grip on Rebecca’s neck and he stepped back.

The team moved in and rounded up the stunned guards. Reid and the others trained their guns on Carla, but couldn’t get a shot without hitting Rebecca.

Carla punched a button on the device and a door slid open behind her. She dragged Rebecca through the opening. The door began to slide shut. Frank sprang forward, wedged it open with his good arm, and pushed through.

“Frank! No!” Terry yelled as the door thudded shut against Frank’s back. The group outside pounded on the hardened steel door and fired their weapons, to no effect. Frank scanned around him. They were in a small room packed with antique furniture and art objects.

“Detective,” Carla said, smiling. “Good of you to join us.”

With one fluid movement she brought a long knife from inside her jacket and transferred it to her right hand. The light from above glinted off the blade as she pressed it against Rebecca’s bare neck.

The image of Jeff Randall’s severed head exploded into Frank’s consciousness, blotting out all else. He staggered back, his body shaking. The room turned dark. The blood thundered in his ears and the walls closed in. A vise clamped down on his chest. His legs started to buckle. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out. He sank to his knees, paralyzed, driven into the floor by the crushing weight of fear.

“How pathetic,” Carla said, “You really are an obsolete race. It’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long.”

“You’re monsters,” Frank croaked, desperately fighting the crushing terror.

She laughed. “What we are is the future. Like evolutionary dead ends in the past, those affected by drugs like Thalidomide were placed at a competitive disadvantage. The Arx are something new. We are Homo sapiens: Mark Two, leapfrogging over millions of years of evolution, an advance toward perfection.

“We’ve watched in amusement as humanity strives to become more like us – leaving behind the silly emotional attachments and relationships, the pointless art and music, the childish quest for pure knowledge.

“You’re beginning to understand what’s important: competition, advancement, money, and above all, power. You dream of being as we are, but you will always be burdened with your emotional affliction – the weakness.

“History will see you as a stepping stone; an intermediary necessary for the development of our species. Having fulfilled your role in creating Olmerol you’ve become redundant, doomed to fade away like the Neanderthal or Paranthropus Boisei.”

With incredible speed, Carla punched a set of buttons on the device in her free hand, then stuffed it in her coat pocket.

“Perfection?” Frank whispered, still shaking. “You’re damaged goods. You’re the victims of a scientific experiment gone horribly wrong.”

Carla glared at him with contempt. “Victims?” she said. “We’ll see who’s stronger.” She clamped Rebecca’s shoulder in her free hand and drew back the blade, ready to strike.

“No!” Frank screamed.

“Then tell me what you know,” Carla shouted, her arm frozen in place. “And tell me who else knows it!”

Frank gazed into Rebecca’s terror-filled eyes. He fought to drag his psyche back to Earth, to control the irrational terror that gripped him, to focus on how to save her.

Carson had provided him with enough hard evidence to guarantee the banning of Olmerol and expose the Arx for what they were. But what would Carla do if he told her?

He still had Miles' gun in his belt. He couldn’t use it as long as Carla was holding Rebecca. He staggered to his feet.

“I’ve got extensive notes Richard Carson made on his years with Kaffir,” he said, battling for control. Carla flinched. “There’s detailed evidence of Olmerol’s side effects from studies he got his hands on before you could suppress them. Even if the medical community doubts his claims, they’re going to be forced to investigate.”

“And what have you done with that information?” Carla said. Her knife-hand was trembling.

“Let Rebecca go,” Frank said, “and I’ll tell you.”