Rise of the Transgenics by J.S. Frankel Page A

did,” Farrell affirmed. Hands on hips,
he surveyed the area with an air of disappointment, finally blowing
out a deep breath. “But you never know, they might have missed
something. Anastasia, can you remember anything other than what
you’ve told us?”
    She continued sniffing, her nostrils dilating
and expanding rapidly. In a series of quick steps, she walked over
to where a pile of charred lumber and metal bars lay partially
covered with a blanket of snow. Standing there motionless with only
her nose working overtime, she seemed to be concentrating. Finally,
she shrugged and turned away.
    “I can’t think of anything,” she said softly,
shaking her head. “I try to remember things, remember who I was and
why they captured me. I want to know why they did this to me, but
whenever I do it just hurts.”
    Traveling back in his memories to the not so
long ago, Harry recalled the first time he’d met her. At
headquarters, late at night, Farrell had brought in an ex-KGB
doctor who’d defected to the American side, and he’d hypnotized
Anastasia.
    Under his spell, she remained as if in a
light sleep and began to speak in flawless Russian. At the time,
Farrell had considered her a spy as she had unimaginably perfect
total recall, able to absorb and remember every single detail of
anything she saw. While it seemed unbelievable, it turned out that
she was a spy, although an unwilling one.
    As for her past, that of being a prostitute,
Harry had been shocked to the ends of the Earth when Nurmelev told
him. On his end, though, he’d never mentioned it. It would have
been too painful and he didn’t want to hurt her. You didn’t hurt
those you loved, and she’d been hurt enough already.
    “Hey!”
    Someone shouted out the greeting and Harry
whirled at the sound. Two men emerged from the forest. The first
man was large, looked to be in his thirties, was wearing a parka
over a suit, and had a pair of boots on. Was he an agent? It seemed
so, as he called out, “Agent Farrell, I’m Agent Mathers.”
    He carried a plastic bag in one hand and
something in the other. When he lifted it up, it flashed in the
morning sun. It was a badge—an FBI badge. The second man was Doctor
Halsey, also wearing a parka and shivering in the cold, his pale
skin turned red from the weather.
    When he saw Anastasia, his eyes grew large
and his face turned as white as the snow. The other man also showed
surprise, and quickly, he tucked his badge away and put his hand
inside his parka.
    “Put your hand down, Mathers,” Farrell called
out. “She’s with us.”
    Immediately, Mathers did and nodded, although
a wary expression remained on his face. However, if he was wary,
then Halsey was plainly terrified, his mouth quivering along with
his chins. “What...what is she doing here?” he squeaked out.
    Questions, questions, there were lots of
questions, chief of which was why Halsey was here in the first
place. Harry thought he’d been put in charge, and now suddenly
number two on the transgenics researching food chain had decided to
put in a guest appearance.
    Mathers walked over, proffered the bag, and
Farrell took it. The younger agent scanned the area, his eyes
constantly roving from tree to tree, and spoke softly. “We got here
an hour ago. I’ve searched the perimeter, but couldn’t find
anything. All I found was some bones.”
    Through the transparent material, Harry saw
bones, human and otherwise. “What are you doing here?” Farrell
began by asking in a most conversational tone. “Who authorized
this?”
    Harry thought that the senior man had to be
internally raging at someone getting here before he did, but if he
was pissed off, he didn’t show it.
    Mathers hesitated and waved his hand at
Halsey. “Er, Doctor Halsey said that he was in charge. He had some
notes and said we should search. So—”
    “So you came up here without my
authorization, is that it?” Farrell’s voice never rose above a
conversational level, but his words