Revolution (21 page)

As bad as Harry felt, his rational side took
over—he knew it hadn’t been anyone’s fault. “You can’t outrun a
grenade, and you can’t fight that thing. No one can. We’ll find
her.”

Istvan continued to cry once they’d gotten
into the jeeps and taken off. They drove through the countryside
back to the Novi Sad army base. There, the general quickly ushered
Harry and Istvan into a small wooden building. It contained a few
tables, chairs and a number of crates and sacks. “This is our
storage room. I apologize for this, but right now, all of this must
remain secret. Please understand.”

Harry nodded dully. His body hurt and he was
heartsick about losing Anastasia. More than likely, they’d take her
to Russia, but it was an immense country, almost equal in size to
the United States. Without knowing exactly where to search, there
could be an infinite number of lairs where the enemy could
hide.

Slobovic returned with two bottles of water
and a computer. He also took out his cellphone. “If you need to
call, use that.”

He set everything up while Istvan greedily
sucked down the water and Harry sipped from his bottle. His throat
was parched and dry and the water felt good going down. Once the
computer was up and running, he sent an email to Farrell and waited
for the reply.

“I will give you and your friend some
privacy,” the general said as he headed to the door. “However, I
expect to be kept apprised of any changes.”

Harry nodded. “You will be.”

As he leaned back in his chair, an emotion of
loss and remembrance, swept over him. Right now he’d never felt so
alone in his life. He’d felt like this once before, when his
parents died. He was just shy of eighteen then, on the cusp of a
career in any discipline he decided to excel in, and the loss of
his parents had set him on the path to where he was now.

His father had passed on first. Pancreatic
cancer was a painful way to go, yet the elder Goldman never
complained. He did, however, shrivel up into something akin to an
empty husk. It cut Harry to the core to know that he couldn’t save
his father.

His mother died roughly three weeks later of
a heart attack. At the funeral, only Jason showed up. It was a
somber affair, the rabbi chanting in a low, mournful voice and
Harry didn’t know what to say to his best friend except
Thanks
for coming.

Tall, geeky and girl-shy Jason had bobbed his
head. “It’s the right thing to do, man.”

If a person could measure friendship by
simple gestures, then the bond with Jason had been sealed just by
the fact that he’d shown up. It had taken time for Harry to get
over his initial loss, but in time, he did. Still, a day didn’t go
by when he didn’t miss his parents, their presence and their wise
counsel.

Now, another right-thing-to-do moment had
come about, and he didn’t quite know how to deal with it. A beep
sounded from the computer and woke Harry from his unhappy trip down
memory lane. It was an email from Farrell.
Where are
you?

Novi Sad First Battalion army
base—Anastasia’s gone. They got her. Can you track her?

Farrell replied a minute later.
Maze is
doing that now. We’ve got your girlfriend moving across the border
into Russian air space and...

The message cut off. Harry typed in
what’s
going on?
He waited while Istvan looked on anxiously and sent
the message again.
What’s going on?

No answer, and Harry fumed until the answer
came through.
The signal has stopped. Szabo must have found out
about the transponder.

Broken in mind and body, Harry sagged back in
his chair. “What is it?” Istvan wanted to know.

“She’s gone.”

Racking his brain, Harry asked for the last
position. The message came back with the coordinates. Harry ran to
the door and opened it. Slobovic stood outside, talking into a
cellphone. He turned around at the noise of the door opening. “Do
you have information?” he asked.

“I need your help.”

Slobovic came inside and went over to the
computer. A grunt came from him as he looked at the information. He
typed something into the computer and a map sprang up. “Here,” he
pointed. “This is where she was maybe ten minutes ago.”

He’d pointed to a spot just above the border
between Lithuania and Russia. “This is both good and bad news,” he
added.

What was up with the good news-bad news
schtick? Harry mentally projected a course that any airplane would
take. “I guess you’re going to give me the bad news first?”

Slobovic rubbed his chin and sighed.
“Actually, the good news is that I can get you over the border to
Russia. I must get a plane ready and communicate with their
government in tandem with your American government. The bad news is
that I cannot guarantee your safety once you reach Russia.”

Harry almost laughed, but didn’t. So far,
no
one had guaranteed his safety, as no one could. “Just get
me across the border and I’ll find her.”

“How will you do that?”

The sound of a message coming through
interrupted Harry’s reply. Farrell had written
come home, Harry.
I’m sorry about Anastasia, but there was nothing I could do. You
didn’t know, either. Come home.

Harry swiftly typed in
No way, I can’t do
that. She needs me. I’m not blaming you. But I have to find
her.

He had no other choice. Slobovic had a
troubled look on his face. It was beginning to swell from the
injuries and must have been killing him, but he gave no outward
sign of pain. “Perhaps you should listen to your superior,” he
advised in a not-unkind voice. “This is something we were not aware
of, something we thought was a myth.”

“You’ve seen us,” Harry replied, inwardly
seething at the possibility of losing the only person who truly
mattered to him. “We exist, and so do they. General, you know what
Szabo wants and what he can do. He has a machine that can turn
anyone into... what he is. I don’t mind looking the way I do and
neither does Anastasia, but he’s after something else.”

“And what is that?”

“He wants to make people monsters that are
already monsters,” Harry replied. “I found something in Hungary.
Szabo’s got listings of prisoners, current as well as those out on
parole in over twenty countries, including yours. He wants to build
his own nation. One of the places he’ll start is here.”

The general’s face turned white. “Who else
knows about this? How many people are we talking about?”

“Contact General Bartok in the Hungarian
Armed Forces,” Harry stated. “Farrell also knows. Sir, Szabo is
after his own slice of the world, you got that? You want numbers?
Let’s start with at least ten thousand. Now I can’t let him get to
the people he needs and I have to get my girlfriend back. I need
your help.” His voice caught. “I need your help.”

Slobovic recovered his composure somewhat,
licked his lips and finally gave a confident nod. “Sit and wait. I
will make the calls.”

Once the door closed, Harry made a direct
call to Farrell. The line crackled with static, but Harry clearly
heard the sound of strain and worry in the older man’s voice. “Kid,
I know how much she means to you, but there are some things I can’t
do. I’ve been in touch with the Russians since last night. They
aren’t going to let anyone venture into their airspace.”

“Why not—” Harry exploded and pounded the
table—”Why not?” His gesture startled Istvan, but he continued
smacking the table until it began to splinter. “Why aren’t they
letting us?”

A sigh came through the line. “They are
viewing this as an international embarrassment for them and their
government. My Russian general friend, the one from Chernobyl, you
remember him?”

“Yeah, I do, so what about him?” Harry asked,
expecting the worst and getting it. He stopped abusing the table
and gripped the cell phone tightly.

“He’s been replaced. The new guy is one
stubborn SOB, and he isn’t going to budge on this. Now they’re
saying that this is an internal matter and they don’t want any
outside help.”

It just figured they’d pull a stunt like
this. If a country could be annihilated with a single thought, then
Russia would be history. That thought and others equally as
destructive ran through Harry’s mind at lightning speed. “So what
am I supposed to do?” he asked hearing the plaintive note of hurt
and loss in his voice. “They’ll kill her. You know that. They’ll
kill her.”

“It’s a possibility,” Farrell replied, his
voice still fraught with worry. “There’s another problem.”

What else could go wrong? “You want to tell
me or should I guess?”

“The news of you leaked out.”

Farrell went on to tell him that someone in
Hungary had managed to gain access to the morgue where the victims
from the attacks by the mutants were being kept. Another news
report had footage of Martuska in flight. One more report from
Belgrade showed paw prints from the mutants, and people were
getting nervous. The news had gone viral, so it was a cinch that
everyone in North America had probably seen it. “Cat’s out of the
bag,” he said and then added, “Sorry for the pun.”

Yeah, so what else was new. “So I can’t go
out in broad daylight without someone taking a picture of me, the
Russians don’t want me there to solve
their
problem and my
girlfriend is going to be dead soon, right? Tell me, what’s the
upside to all this?”

“Maybe you won’t have to worry about her so
much,” the answer came. “They want you, right? If you don’t go,
then they may just keep her and—”

“And what then,” Harry interrupted, angry
that the FBI was seemingly sloughing off his girlfriend as
collateral damage. “What are they going to do then? Yeah, I know
they’re using her as bait, but if I don’t do something, they’ll
kill her. They—will—kill—her!”

In a fit of fury, he tossed the phone against
the wall and typed one last message into the computer.
Track me.
I’m going after Anastasia.

Job over, he sat back rubbing his forehead to
get rid of a sudden tension headache. Istvan worried his hooves
together, making a soft grinding sound. “I must go with you,” he
said, carefully enunciating each word.

Harry jerked his head around. “You don’t have
to. I can do this alone.”

Could he? Realistically, Harry didn’t have a
chance. The Russians would be looking for him or others like him.
It was a safe bet that they’d shoot first and ask questions later.
Either that, or they’d just kill him and cover up the evidence. He
couldn’t speak Russian and was up against a formidable enemy.

Istvan tapped him on the shoulder. “I will
help you.” A look of determination supplanted the normally placid
look he displayed. “I have been nothing all my life. When I was
little boy, others tell me I am nothing. My teachers call me
nothing, my classmates hit me and call me nothing, but I think I am
something. I believe in myself, Istvan Antos. My parents believe in
me, too.”

He hung his head. “I love my parents and I
want to give them honor. I want my honor, too. To get that, I need
to help others. I cannot change back on my own. I cannot become
what I was without you. You cannot go on without your girlfriend.
You need me.”

Reluctant to accept aid from someone who
might prove to be a liability in the field, Harry hesitated and
then nodded as he considered a few possibilities. “You’re a better
tracker than I am. You can smell things I can’t.” He got up. “Let’s
do this.”

Going over to the door, he poked his head
outside. Slobovic stood there, smoking a cigarette and surveying
the barracks. “General, I have an idea. I need one of your men and
a small plane.”

They left the same evening. The pilot had
flown into Russia numerous times, Slobovic assured him. He drove
Harry and Istvan to a small hangar on the outskirts of the city.
“We keep old training aircraft here,” he said and introduced the
pilot, a short and muscular man. He didn’t give his name.

After the usual stop-and-stare routine, the
pilot nodded at them both. “I hear stories of animal people,” he
said in broken English accompanied by a heavy accent. “I never
believe it. Now I see pig person and cat-man.”

“Can we forget about the looks for a change?”
Harry asked, fed up with being put on public display once more.
“What about our transportation?”

For an answer, the pilot pointed to an old
single-propeller plane. “This cannot be seen. I fly below radar
detection.”

He had to be kidding. This thing looked like
a relic from the Second World War. The panels on the outside were
loose, there was actually baling wire wrapped around the wings...
would it fly? As if sensing his uncertainty, the pilot nodded and
slapped the side of the aircraft with affection. “Yes, she is old,
but still good for a night’s fun. She will carry us safely.”

Slobovic reached inside the plane and
rummaged around for something. He came out with a map and after
some back-and-forth conversation with the pilot, he turned to
Harry, map in hand. “I have given him instructions to stop near the
Russian border. There is an empty field... here.”

He pointed to a spot on the map. It was
Siberia. There seemed to be a mountain range fairly close to where
the landing spot was. “The border crossing is about two kilometers
away. The area is farmland and it is open. You must take care, but
it will be night and the people will be asleep. Cross over the
border,” he pointed at another spot, “and after that, you are on
your own. The area is large. There may not be patrols. I cannot
guarantee that, though.”

No one was guaranteeing anything. Harry
mentally sighed. Well, it seemed straightforward enough. Istvan
gulped, but nodded and got on board, sitting in the back seat. “I
take up less room back here,” he said.