Revolution (9 page)

“Jesus,” Farrell whispered. “Who was this?”
That comment seemed to sum it all up.

With an air of detachment, Bartok waved at
the body. “This happened two days ago. His name is Tomas Marucz, a
farmer near Gemenc. He was killed at night. Unfortunately, there
were no witnesses. Naturally, we conducted an investigation, but
there were no prints, no leads and no way to find the killers.”

At first, Harry chalked up the Hungarian army
guy as being a cold fish, but then figured that he was used to
seeing death up close and personal. Harry had been forced to
kill—once—when he faced off against Piotr. He had no taste for
killing. He’d only done so in order to save his life. After viewing
this corpse, he had the feeling that a lot more death would be
coming his way.

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 and 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.