Wolverine: Weapon X Page 15

Cornelius looked away. “Well,” he said in a weary voice. “I guess we’ve all had enough for today. Turn off the monitor, Ms. Hines…”

  * * * * *

  She winced when his hands touched her throat.

  “Sorry to startle you, Ms. Hines, but I must examine the injury.”

  “Of course,” she replied, staring straight ahead as he circled her, fingers probing her neck, shoulders, ribs.

  At last, Dr. Hendry removed his hand. “No soft tissue damage on your neck. Just some bruising. Nothing a little makeup wouldn’t hide, eh?”

  “I don’t wear makeup.”

  “Yes. Quite. That bruise on your rib may smart, but nothing is broken.”

  He stepped over to the sink and washed his hands. She pulled up her green smock to cover her nakedness. Hendry dried his hands, then opened a glass cabinet filled with plastic bottles. “I’m going to give you a mild painkiller, and an analgesic to reduce the swelling.”

  “Thank you. How is the Professor?”

  “Resting comfortably, I hope. Dr. MacKenzie is handling his treatment. Most likely all the Professor needs is rest. He’s a workaholic. And speaking of sleep, would you like something to soothe your nerves?”

  “I’m fine. I can’t take a nap now, I have duties to perform.”

  “You seem to be holding up well, Ms. Hines. It must have been quite a shock—Subject X attacking you like that.”

  “I thought he was going to murder me … and the Professor.”

  “Yet I doubt that was Logan’s intention, at least in your case. If he wanted to kill you, Logan could have broken your neck with one hand, as easily as you or I break a pencil.”

  She faced him. “Thank you for that comparison, Doctor. It’s an image I’ll cherish.”

  Hendry laughed. “A sense of humor, Ms. Hines? Who knew?”

  She slid off the diagnostic table. “Can I go now?”

  “First I’d like to ask a question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “I couldn’t help but notice old scars on your abdomen. They look like chemical bums. And you’ve had a surgical procedure, too. One not listed on your charts…”

  “Chemistry set. I was accident-prone as a child.”

  “I … see. And the surgical procedure?”

  “Emergency appendectomy when I was fourteen. I guess I forgot to list it when I filled out my personnel file.”

  “Not to worry,” Hendry replied. “I’ll fix that oversight right now.”

  “Then I can go?”

  Hendry nodded. “Light duty for a day or two. Cold compresses to relieve the swelling. And if you have trouble sleeping, give me a call.”

  After she left, Hendry went to the computer and pulled up the personnel file for Carol Hines. On her health chart, he entered the results of the examination. Then he scrolled down to the “Past Medical History” section of the woman’s profile. Under “Prior Surgeries” he deleted “none” and then typed: Surgical procedure, approximate age 14. Cesarean section?

  * * * * *

  “You’re gonna fall out of your seat, Cutler!” Deavers barked.

  Cutler straightened up in his chair and took his feet off the terminal where they’d been propped, then spun to face Deavers. “They teach you that in management school?”

  “What?”

  “Sneaking up on people.”

  “I’ve got my eye on you, Cutler, if that’s what you mean. And I think you’re enjoying this light duty thing way too much. Consider yourself active—as of now.”

  “That screw-up in the lab last night got you spooked, too? Should have let me get in the mix.”

  Deavers closed and locked the security command center hatch, then sat down across from Cutler. “You got that right, Cut. Since I lost Agent Hill, this place has been going to hell. Last night, Lynch and Anderson behaved like amateurs, and Franks is as green as grass. Nearly dropped the Professor with the tranquilizer gun instead of the resident menace, Logan.”

  “Sorry I missed it.”

  “Well, you won’t miss the next mess, because you’re back on the active list—as head of tactical security.”

  “I don’t want Hill’s old job,” Cutler shot back.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to end up in intensive care like Hill. I am not an idiot, Deavers!”

  Deavers leaned close and spoke barely above a whisper. “Listen, Cut. Things are only going to get messier around here, and soon. We’ve got a house full of mad scientists and one very dangerous monster. I need your help to keep this place together.”

  “No way, Major.”

  “Come on, Cutler. You’re the best I’ve got, even if you are an insubordinate son of a bitch with a chip on your shoulder. You also seem to be allergic to authority.”

  “Nice to see you drop that ‘big boss’ facade, Major. Makes you seem almost human. Did you give the same pep talk to Rice?”

  “Rice is no longer my problem. He’s been transferred to data control and information security, permanently. Orders came down from the Director.”

  “I love management.”

  “So what will it be, Cutler? Are you gonna do the right thing for once and stop being a pain in my ass?”

  Cutler spun in his chair. “I’d really hate to leave this here comfy security booth, but I’ve got to tell you the truth, Deavers.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You had me at ‘son of a bitch.’ And I do love to wear those spiffy Kevlar battle suits.”

  * * * * *

  After her examination, Carol Hines hurried back to her cramped quarters in the section of the complex known as the Hive.

  By the time she’d reached her room, her heart was racing. She didn’t calm down until she’d locked the door behind her and curled up on her bunk.

  I certainly handled that badly, she thought. I’m sure Dr. Hendry is a capable enough physician to know that my scar isn’t from a simple appendectomy.

  She tore off her smock but tossed it in the corner, then stood before the mirror, examining her wounds—new and old.

  I do everything I possibly can to forget my past, and my own body betrays me. It’s like a map that leads perfect strangers to long-buried nightmares.

  She covered her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the voices in her head that had been echoing for years.

  “Your medical history has revealed a … psychological malady that forces us to decline your application for top secret security clearance, and deny you a position at the National Security Council. Very sorry, Ms. Hines …”

  “Dear Ms. Hines: We regret to inform you that the National Aeronautics and Space Administration only considers applicants in top physical condition for astronaut training. Your prior condition forces us to remove you from consideration.”

  “Anyone who has attempted suicide—even in the turmoil of early adolescence—probably won’t pass the stringent criteria of the United States Air Force Space Command…”

  The fools. I never attempted suicide. I was young. Afraid. I only wanted to be rid of the . . . thing. . . in my womb. I never intended to harm myself . . . only it.

  Yet her past dogged her for years, denied her opportunities within the research community. And when she finally did land a job at NASA, it was as a low-level training specialist, not the position she most coveted—astronaut.

  It’s not as if I didn’t have the intelligence and the skills. I was an honors student by the time I was twelve. My father used to call me his “little scientist.”

  My father treated me special, too. Stopped beating me. Started to take an interest in my studies, my science projects.

  Life became tolerable after I brought home that first science fair prize in third grade—almost idyllic, until … the accident, a few years later.

  That’s what my father called it. The accident. Like it was nobody’s fault. Like it just happened—sort of like a storm, or an earthquake.


  But if it was an accident, why did I blame myself?

  In spite of her resolve, Carol felt a wetness on her cheeks. She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands and buried her head in her pillow. As she slipped into a troubled sleep, she thought she heard the voice of her long-dead mother…

  “Your father is going to be so proud,” Mrs. Hines said. She held a report card in one hand, her third drink of the day in the other. “My goodness. Only fourteen and already a whiz in advanced chemistry.”

  If my mother wasn’t already half-tanked, she might have noticed that I was as pale as snow. But Mom only concentrated on the slip of paper.

  “Can I go to the garage now?” Carol asked.

  “Not until you get out of your school uniform, young lady—you just about burned the color out of your last smock with those chemical experiments of yours.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Upstairs, Carol stripped away her clothes and studied her reflection in the mirror. She imagined that her belly already protruded—her mother had even remarked at breakfast that she seemed to be gaining weight.

  A neat trick for someone who throws up practically every morning…

  It wasn’t as if she was too young to know what was happening to her body. Even if she didn’t grasp the truth at first, Carol Hines was an honors student and knew how to do research. As soon as she suspected the truth, she went to the library and took out every book she could find on the subject.

  She knew every aspect of the biological process she was going through. And more, so much more, too, because “Daddy’s little scientist” had studied heredity She found out that if the parents were a near genetic match, if the bloodlines were too closely related—cousins, perhaps—then there was a much higher probability of genetic abnormalities and inherited diseases. Cystic fibrosis. Down’s syndrome. Friedreich’s ataxia. Hemolytic anemia. Hemophilia.

  The thought of having a disabled child horrified her. How could Daddy’s special little girl give birth to something that was malformed? Defective? Imperfect?

  Daddy loved perfection—didn’t he tell her that himself? The night he was drinking while helping her with her homework. The night she sat too close to him. He always told her to keep her distance, but that night she felt her father’s perverse love….

  She carried a monster in her belly.

  So before her father came home, before supper with the family, Carol Hines went down to the garage and mixed up something special with her junior chemistry set.

  “Do what you oughta, add acid to water,” her father used to say with a big laugh.

  That night, in the garage, she mixed the acid but dispensed with the water. Instead, she used the corrosive on herself in a desperate, misguided attempt to bum the abomination she carried out of her womb…

  A buzzing inside her head—the intercom—made Carol Hines bolt upright in her bunk.

  “Hines here.”

  “Ah, so you are at home,” Dr. MacKenzie said jovially.

  “I went to see Dr. Hendry. And I felt a bit tired after… after what happened this morning.”

  “Understandable,” MacKenzie replied. “Unfortunately, we have need of your skills. Subject X is thoroughly sedated, but the drugs are quickly wearing off Dr. Cornelius has attempted an interface with that machine of yours, but he does not have your deft touch.”

  “Problem?”

  “We’re getting those pesky brain spikes again. And with all that happened today… well, you see our dilemma.”

  “I’ll be right there. Over.”

  More responsibility . . . But I never ever wanted to be in charge. Just do my job, keep my head down, so it won’t get cut off.

  She rose and dressed in one of her array of identical green smocks. Without glancing into the mirror, she left her quarters and followed the maze of corridors that led to Logan’s cell.

  A maze . . . this place is becoming another maze, just like NASA. The Professor promised me a place where pure scientific pursuit was the goal; a place free of judgment, petty bureaucratic politics.

  But it was all lies.

  Already the bureaucratic infighting has started, and Dr. Hendry is snooping into my past—no doubt in search of ammunition he can use to destroy my career destroy me.

  I wonder. Have I traded one maze for another?

  Carol Hines felt lost.

  11

  Prey

  “I count two four-wheeled APCs and a big job—looks like a knockoff of a Soviet BTR-60. Eight wheels, searchlight on top, maybe six men inside with a driver. You can count on a dozen soldiers coming right for us.”

  Logan crawled back into the drainage ditch and handed Miko the night-vision binoculars. Behind them, the sound of beating blades echoed off the hillsides as twin helicopters with searchlights scoured the valley.

  “We can’t go backward, either. It’s only a matter of time before those ‘copter jockeys figure out I’ve made it to the road. They’ll hunt us like a pack of wolves.”

  “So we are trapped.”

  “I’m trapped,” said Logan. “I’m betting they don’t even know you’re here.”

  In the moonlight, he saw her frown.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “Because all the leaks are coming from my end. You knew about the mission. Why not the Koreans?”

  She couldn’t argue with Logan’s logic, so Miko didn’t try “What do you have in mind?”

  “Can you find that clearing in the foothills where we rested?”

  “Hai, easily.”

  “Meet me back there in two hours.”

  “But what about the helicopters? Surely they will be searching the hills as well as the road.”

  “They won’t be looking for me by then.”

  Miko shook her head. “You are not thinking of surrender?”

  Logan laughed. “No way. I’m not crazy I’ve got a better idea. I’m going to let them kill me.”

  She blinked. “Are you insane?”

  “I don’t like this any better than you. I’ve been shot before—didn’t much care for the feeling. But this is the only way out that I can see—for both of us.”

  Realization dawned on Miko’s face. “This is wrong. You could really die.”

  “You saw the way I recovered from that fall down the hill. I can heal, faster than any … human.”

  “But machine guns, bayonets … won’t they finish you off or capture you if they find you are alive?”

  “They won’t get near me. I’ll show my face, let them pop off some shots, then I’ll tumble into the lake. If they’re still looking for me tomorrow, they’ll be dragging the pond, not scouring the hills, where we’ll be safe.”

  “And after we rendezvous?”

  “Face facts. No matter what, the mission is over—” She tried to object, but he cut her off.

  “—because we lost the element of surprise. They’re going to double security Triple it. And it’s worse if they managed to grab Langram. They’ll beat or drug the truth out of him in a couple of hours, so the extraction plan is compromised. If that happens, we’ll both have to take your ride out of here.”

  Miko’s face was grim. “Can we not stay together?”

  “And risk both our lives?” Logan shook his head. “This is a much better plan.”

  He peeked over the edge of the trench. “They’re less than a minute away. Get down into the ditch and crawl on your belly until you can make a clean break for the tree line.”

  He turned away to watch the road.

  “Logan … I—”

  “You got something to say?”

  “Good luck,” Miko whispered. Then she was gone among the tall grass. The rustling sound of her retreat was soon drowned out by the noise of the vehicles bumping along the rough road.

  As Logan scrambled up the side of the trench, he freed the G36 strapped to his leg. A man seated in the top hatch was playing the searchlight in the ditch ahead of him. Logan carefully averted his eyes to retain his night
vision. When the searchlight stabbed upward, into the tree line, Logan noticed a glint of moonlight off glass, and smiled. The BTR’s armored windshield visors were up, the bullet resistant windows exposed. He quickly switched magazines.

  These guys seem pretty cocky. But a Teflon-tipped titanium shell should ruin their day—and punch a huge hole tight through that windshield.

  As the eight-wheel personnel carrier rumbled closer, Logan suddenly lost his nerve. His heart palpitated, he broke out in a cold sweat, and doubt flooded his mind. When he threw the safety, his hands seemed unsteady enough to spoil his aim. Logan felt short of breath as he beat back rising panic. For the first time in a month, he had the urge to drink himself into a stupor, to sink back into a bottle, where he’d lived for far too many years.

  Beat back the fear. Swallow it. You can take a bullet, you can live with the pain, Logan told himself.

  But another part of him wanted to turn tail and run like a rabbit, to dive back into the ditch and crawl away from this place on his belly.

  He started to rationalize his thoughts. It’s not fear it’s what you do with it. No matter what, I’m in control of the situation and I’m not running.

  That thought seemed to calm him, and Logan took several slow, deep breaths as the BTR rolled within range. When he glanced down at his hands again, they were as steady as a statue’s.

  Now the ten-ton personnel carrier was close enough to shake the ground under his feet. Logan saw that it had raced a little too far ahead of the other two vehicles—a break for him. Logan rose out of the ditch and stepped into the middle of the road.

  The man in the top hatch was busy scanning the woods to the side, so it was the driver who spotted Logan first. The vehicle slowed, and its driver barked something to his comrade in the hatch.

  Logan stood, left hand raised in mock surrender, right hand hanging at his side, the G36 tucked behind his leg. He slouched his right shoulder, hoping they’d think he was injured. The man in the top hatch swiveled the searchlight to frame Logan in its beam.

  Bad idea. You die first.

  Logan’s arm shot up and the G36 coughed. The titanium shell exploded the searchlight into a shower of glass and fiery sparks. The man behind the light flew out of the hatch the instant the nearly expended shell caught him under the chin. His entire head disappeared in a shower of blood and fractured skull pieces. The headless corpse dropped onto the back of the BTR like a bag of dirt.