"It is nice to see you awake. From what I hear you had a late night," said Dr. Weisehund.
"So, the Society is watching me. That's reassuring. I thought I felt some eyes at my back."
"I was not involved. Members of the board thought it prudent to observe you during your stay in Berlin. I just happened to hear some office gossip. You are enjoying the club scene, then?" she teased.
"Very much so. No Lou Reed songs, though," said Dave, not missing a beat.
"More is the pity. Anyhow, to business. I am calling to give you forewarning that the project will be completed some time this afternoon. You are to keep your phone on your person at all times. I shall call one half hour in advance of the time we are to depart. Is that understood?"
"Ich verstehe. Alle ist klar. I will keep the phone close to my heart" said Dave.
"I expect nothing less. Aufwiederhoren." She disconnected.
Dave set the phone aside, yawned, and stretched. He stood and scratched an itch at his bottom. The clock radio displayed the time at 11:03. Germans. Even her phone call was on the hour.
21 comments:
After dealing with the minutia of dressing, eating, packing, checking out, and the like it, was already well into the afternoon. As promised, Dave kept his phone at hand. There was very little he could do in the time alloted. Dave packed up the car, adding an additional bag containing all he had purchased while in Germany. He filled up the tank at a nearby petrol station, then washed the car for good measure.
Eventually his phone rang. All Dr, Weisehund said was "It is time."
Dave drove to the institute and met her in the lobby. She was dressed casually in a pair of slacks, a blouse, sensible shoes, and matching purse. On the security desk lay the attache and the case Dave had brought them. Dave checked the contents simply to look professional, then headed out with the doctor as one of her subordinates held open the door.
Seeing her without the lab coat was, as Dave figured, how students must have thought of their teachers when seeing them out of school. It seemed like she was out of her element, like a polar bear in the Sahara.
Dave slipped the attache under his arm so he could hold the car door open for her. She looked appreciatively at his car. "The Bugatti Vermillion. This vehicle is very rare."
"You know of it then?" asked Dave.
"But of course. I oversaw the testing of many internal components. The Society has close ties with Volkwagen, the company that currently own the Bugatti franchise."
"I see."
Dave closed the door once she was safely settled therein and soon was in the drivers seat himself.
"I see you also have a compressed audio file player."
"Don't tell me the Society invented that as well," said Dave.
"Well, not entirely. We did develop the compression logarithm and, of course, the codex require to read the file."
"So, yes, you did invent it."
"The software, not the hardware. Shall we go?"
They made small talk while driving through town. Well, Dave tried to start a conversation, but the doctor kept bringing up his car. The first and most obvious question was how he had come to possess the super car. Dave answered truthfully, though taking a wide berth from the specific details.
"I convinced a mobster to part with it," is what he said. She seemed satisfied enough with the answer.
She pressed him on other details. What modifications had he made? Were there modifications he would like to make?
Dave had to admit that perhaps the armored seats were too much. Once he made up his mind whether he approved of them or not they would remain. He also confessed that the extra weight was a slight bother, but was a fair trade off for the added protection.
"I would also like an in board computer with a portable, external drive. That is something my brother, Rick, could help me with. You see, he is a bit of an IT wizard himself, though you probably wouldn't guess that just from looking at him. I also miss having a night vision camera and heads up display. Driving at night is not a stealthy matter in this car as it was in my previous vehicle."
Traffic was thick as people were either coming home from the office or going out on the town. When they got out of the city center, though, shots rang out. Bullets deflected off the driver side door and window.
"Hold on," Dave said. he shifted into a higher gear and slithered his way through the lighter traffic. In the side and rear view mirrors he spotted a number of pursuers all on motorcycles or dirt bikes. At the moment he counted four baddies.
They had the advantage. They were smaller, more agile. They would have no trouble keeping up with Dave while they were in town. He had to get on the open road and quick.
"You need to navigate me," said Dave, sounding a bit German himself. "I'll be a little busy. Find us an exit onto the autobahn so we can lose these jokers."
For the first time since meeting her, Dr. Weisehund seemed flustered. She was out of her element. Meanwhile, Dave kept unusually cool as he tried to maneuver the sports car through the dense traffic. At one point he had to go into the oncoming lane as it was clear.
It was a clever plan. By ambushing Dave in the city they prevented him from making an easy escape. The fact that gunfire was concentrated on his side of the car suggested they wanted Weisehund alive. Dave was just an obstacle.
This was bad. The motorcycles drove along the sidewalks or in between cars. Shots rang out and thudded against the car like heavy hail. Meanwhile, Dr. Weisehund tried to figure out where they were as she simultaneously kept her head down. She stammered, "But I...I don't...where - "
"Just tell me where to turn," said Dave as he jumped a curb. It was a good thing the Bugatti's clearance only went down at high speeds.
"I don't get out much. I don't even drive."
"Try. Read the road signs or something. Anything," said Dave, still keeping it cool. He had considered just stopping the car, getting out, and firing away at his pursuers. Once upon a time he would have done just that. However, he had a lady to protect, a mission to complete, and it was much safer within the confines of the armored car.
"Links. Links. Links," shouted the doctor.
"What?" asked Dave.
"Left! No! You missed it!" She watched the turn pass behind them, her neck craning. Then she remember the automatic weapons and ducked down once more.
"Why didn't you say that in the first place?"
Dave braked hard, turning the car around in a powerslide. it was too late to head back. The traffic was jammed tight. Dave shifted into reverse and backed down the street he was on. Two motorcyclists fired away at the windshield. Dave hoped the bullets wouldn't damage his stuff in the trunk.
Dave pulled his pistol from his holster, took it off safe, locked and loaded it, and rolled down the window. He fired at the enemy, his incredible skill with the 9mm succeeding in striking the front tire of one and the chest of the other. The damaged bike wobbled and slipped, laying out the rider. Meanwhile, the other rider clasped his chest and ran headlong into an oncoming vehicle. He went flying over the sedan and disappeared within a crowd of cars.
And then the sirens sounded.
Dave spun back around and took the next left turn. He would have to find their way back to an exit, any exit.
The roads were a total chaos. People had abandoned their vehicles. Panicked drivers caused accidents. On top of this, police vehicles entered the scene.
The two riders Dave had taken out were replaced with two more. Another two headed down a side road, firing away. One of the bikers had evidently stopped to pick up the rider that had laid his bike down earlier.
Dave swerved and weaved through traffic, horns blaring as he passed angry and startled commuters. Ahead he spotted their destination, an exit onto the autobahn. Dave went for it.
As he approached, a black sedan pulled in front of him. Dave swerved, but still managed to clip the side of the sedan. This knocked him off course. he took a side road. Well, it wasn't a road, per se. There was a wide, dirt path. The earth had been compacted down from frequent use by heavy vehicles. Dave could see where the road led. The skin and bones structure of a building side loomed in the distance.
More shots rang out, a number of them hitting the underside of the Bugatti. Dave glanced down at his instruments. The gas gauge dropped at an alarming rate. There was no going back. The autobahn was now a lost cause. They had to make a stand. He floored it. The hydraulics lowered the clearance. Meanwhile, the spoiler raised up. He raced down the dirt road, kicking up dust behind them. The gauge dropped even faster. Dave figured he would use what he had when he still had it.
They came upon the building site quickly. He flew off a small incline and, as they landed, engaged the air, foot, and emergency brakes all at once. at the same time, Dave steered hard left, powersliding to a stop. The amount of dust he had kicked up swarmed around the car, encasing them in a makeshift smokescreen.
Dave handed her his pistol. "You know how to use this?"
She looked at the gun. "Of course. All German citizens unless physically or mentally incapable must serve one year in military service."
This was no time for one of her little lessons. "I take it that means yes?"
"Yes. Danke." She took the gun in hand. Dave got out of the car. he fished his MAC 10 from behind the driver's seat. He didn't bother closing the car door.
Stupidly, Dr, Weisehund remained in her seat. Dave swung around the car on foot, keeping his head down. He helped her out. "Over there," he said, pointing at what looked like a small recess in one of the ground floor walls.
They ran over there. Dave ushered her into what looked like a future closet space. "Stay here," he said. "Keep close to the corner and out of sight. Don't come out until it's clear, understand?"
She just looked up at him from the hole in the wall.
"Versteh?" asked Dave.
"Yes. Alle is klar."
"Gut." As she balled herself up inside one of the corners, Dave slinged the MAC over a shoulder and grabbed onto a nearby stack of plywood leaning against the wall. With some effort he managed to drag the heavy wood so that it concealed the closet entrance. He left just enough room for her to squeeze through if necessary.
He looked up at the bare framework of the upper floors. If he had to stage a fight, this was the place. Nooks and crannies, objects to climb, occasional open spaces, there was no better place for a ringtail like him.
Dave threw off his sports jacket and took the first flight of stairs he came to at two or three steps a time. He made his way up to the second floor landing and took position at a window. Dave spotted a number of motorcycles kicking up more dust along the dirt road. With them the black sedan followed. Clearly this was the car in which they had planned to take the doctor.
Dave held off. Firing now, although capable of hitting many targets, would only give away his position. He waited. Just as he suspected, they split ranks in order to better search the area. Several of them checked the cars. Even from such a distance, Dave could hear them calling out to one another. "Davai! Ideet! Saychas!"
Russians.
Dave knew from his briefings that the Russians had a dubious relationship with the E.U. Although they traded openly, many in the E.U. frowned at the Russian's treatment of hybrids. An apartheid existed between hybrid and humans. Rumors of gross violations of hybrid rights circulated.
Nevertheless, it was clear that many of the Russians below were themselves hybrids. There was no mistaking the occasional, fluffy tail.
Twilight fell. The long shadows now grown so long that the whole of Berlin fell beneath the shadow of a distant hill crest. Dave took a deep breath. He counted six Bogies. He had no idea how many still resided within the sedan.
As four scoured the grounds, the other four scaled the flights of stairs, first in pairs of two, and then separately. Dave quickly left his spot by the window and scaled the side of an opposite wall. He listened for a member of the strike force to come by. Dave loosened his tie. Sure enough, a weasel in motorcycle leathers stalked by, soon coming under Dave's position. The weasel had his uzi at the ready. Quiet, still, Dave waited for the right moments as he clung to the top side of the wall between them.
The moment was at hand. Dave slid his upper body over the top of the wall. He had slid off his tie and quickly looped it around the unsuspecting weasel's neck. Dave promptly let himself off the wall, holding onto the ends of his tie. The strip of fabric tightly bound the weasels' throat. Dave's weight pulled the weasel off his feet. The uzi went off, firing indiscriminately at absolutely nothing. Dave had anticipated this.
Dave set his feet against the wall and pulled harder on his tie. The firing stopped as the weasel dropped the weapon. The tie jerked in Dave's hands as his enemy struggled for his life, but to no avail. In just a matter of seconds the weasel's larynx crushed under the pressure. The struggling stopped. Dave let go of one end of the tie and slipped to the floor. He quickly made his way to a nearby stairwell.
In a gap between walls, Dave spotted another Russian moving quickly up the stairs. Dave readied his MAC 10 and fired several short, controlled bursts to the chest. Bullets perferated the wolf's biker leathers. He fell forward and slid down the cement steps.
Not wanting to stay in place, Dave went down the same flight of stairs and onto the first floor. Dave sighted another bogie just before his enemy fired. Dave jumped from the stairs and through another gap in the walls. He kept his back to the wall, staying low, listening to his enemy's movements.
The Russian blue called out, informing everyone that he had spotted their target. If only Dave had brought grenades. Even one of Barett's signature flash-bangs would be a godsend.
The Russian blue knew enough to take cover. It was a waiting game at this point. However, Dave was the more pressured to make the first move. The cat's buddies would come at any moment. Dave darted towards another window, letting loose with his MAC in order to lay down some suppressive fire.
Dave leapt through the window and onto a wooden plank. The scaffold rattled and banged under his weight. Dave let the M10 hang by its sling as he squirreled his way up the scaffold and back onto the second floor. He once more equipped his machine pistol, holding the suppressor for additional support. With the business end of the gun leading him, Dave peeked through yet another window. It looked clear enough.
Dave slinked through, keeping low and close to walls. A team spotted him. Dave brought up his weapon, ready to fire. However, one of the Russian's tossed something into the room. Dave had spotted a wheel barrel earlier. He leapt into the metal basin and used his weight to pull it down. The grenade went off, showering the area with shrapnel. Hot chunks of grenade glanced, dented, and sometimes lodged into the underside of the wheel barrel. Dave tried to plug his ears. He needed his hearing.
As the smoke cleared, a team of two entered to confirm the kill. Dave was ready for them. He blasted each with a short burst to the head and neck, having caught them by surprise. The Russian's dropped.
That's half of them, thought Dave. Hs weapon spent, Dave set the M10 on the ground and picked up the uzis formerly held by the now dead Russians. He slinged one and held onto the other.
Dave figured another team of two still roamed the structure, searching for him. The other team were likely on the ground should he try an escape. While searching the bodies, Dave found another couple of grenades. Confident that the doctor remained in her hiding place, Dave pulled the pin of one grenade and dropped it down an opening in the floors, likely to be used for ventilation. The grenade exploded close to the moment of impact. If he hit somebody great, if not, well at least it was a distraction.
Before Dave could prepare some tactic to rid himself of a few more Russians, doors the the black sedan opened and closed. this was followed by a sharp whistle and some Russian shouting. Dave heard a word sounding like 'police.'
Dave could hear the two teams scramble for their motorcycles. Dave rushed to the nearest area, tossing a grenade out another empty window. Sadly, the grenade deflected off a railing to the scaffold and tumbled far short of its intended targets. Dave switched to the uzi, but by then the motorcycles had kicked up a cloud of dust.
Apparently the Russians were starved for time. Dave had postponed them too long. The police had to be stalled or put down. A mystery remained. Who was left behind? Who had until now occupied the sedan?
Dave went the the former window and cautiously snuck a peek at the black car. No one was in sight. He closed his eyes. All the better to listen to the tell-tale sounds of an approaching or retreating enemy. Yet nothing.
Dave turned to head down, hoping to take out whoever remained. Some force ripped the uzi from his grip. The sling snapped clean off. Dave watched helplessly as the weapon was thrown far across the room.
A giant bear in T-shirt and sweat pants loomed over Dave like a colossus. Dave smiled comically for a moment. The bear said something in Russian, his voice deep and dark as a Ukrainian forest. Dave didn't get any of it, except for one thing. it was a taunt.
How did someone so huge, so heavy get to Dave so quickly, so quietly? It was no wonder the bear rode in the sedan. A motorcycle would be crushed under the weight of him.
"Uh," said Dave. He hadn't been prepared for this scenario. Like usual, he would have to just wing it.
For the moment the two just looked at one another. Dave gazed up at the hulking, hairy beast when a thought occurred to him. The bear could have simply rid the world of Dave with a gunshot to the back of the head, or even a well placed dagger in the back. Hell, the size of him that bear could have just snapped him like a match stick.
Dave searched for a Russian word or phrase. "Uh. Dobry Dyen," he said.
The bear replied in his gruff voice, laughed softly albeit menacingly, and cricked his thick neck slowly. Ah-hah! The bear preferred to kill with his bear hands. Fine. Furthermore, he liked to make a challenge of it. Okay. Dave understood that. He preferred hand to hand to gunplay on most occasions, however opportunities to face off one one one had bordered on the rare.
Dave let out an exasperated sigh that was only half true. Dave felt confident enough, that is, if you did not take into account the size of his opponent.
Dave lashed out in a flash with a number of lightning fast snap kicks, both high and low. The bear simply let him, laughing all the while. Dave even spun into a roundhouse kick that the bear deflected with ease.
In the impending darkness of fading sunlight, a grin came to the bear's face. He implied with a welcoming gesture of the paws, "Is that all you got?"
Still in his taekwondo stance, Dave stepped back. Once he was a good distance away, he dashed forward into a jump kick. He leapt high, aiming the sole of his foot at the bear's furry mug. This, too, was deflected. The bear caught Dave in flight and hoisted him aloft. Dave struggled, but could find no purchase for escape. The bear strode out of the room, carrying Dave well above where there would have been a ceiling had the building been completed. At the edge of the second floor, the bear simply let go of Dave.
Dave fell. He balled up, readying himself for impact. He fell upon a work bench. Luckily there were no tools or other nasty things to fall upon other than the top of the desk that bent under his weight. Dave rebounded off the desktop and hard onto the floor as though off a springboard. As he lay there looking at the darkening sky, Dave thanked the few stars above that his spine was still intact.
Instead of taking a nearby flight of stairs, the bear jumped down after Dave. He was playing with him as a dog might with something dead. Dave chose to remain on the floor for the moment. Over the Russian taunts, over the ringing in his ears, Dave's acute hearing picked up the feint whup-whup of an approaching helicopter.
Dave stood up, though rather uneasily. A sharp pain in his lower back stabbed ad him in protest. Dave ignore it. He may have been rather on the small side, but he was tough. He could take a punch or two. Dave, too, cricked his neck. He extended his arms, palms up, and gestured, 'come on then.'
The bear took two big steps forward and went fluidly into a lunging, thrust kick. Dave attempted to deflect the blow and managed quite well. However, the sheer mass and power was more than Dave could bear. He stumbled back several feet.
Dave's turn. He stepped forward, launching a powerful, corkscrew punch to the chest, Dave's signature 'heartbreaker punch.' This, too, was deflected. Before he knew it, Dave had been once more whisked up and into the air. The bear threw him against a wall. Dave collided hard and then fell just as hard.
"Okay then," Dave said to himself as he lay on the cool cement. Another out of body experience had overcome him. It all seemed false, despite the pain. It was an elaborate illusion. Either he was losing consciousness, or glimpsing a superior consciousness, what the Buddhists called a moment of satori.
Before Dave could get off the floor, the bear seized him. He yanked Dave off the floor and into, well, a bear hug. What was this form of combat the bear was using? It had elements of jujutsu. Dave knew. It was systema, an eclectic style once taught to KGB operatives and Russian special forces way, way back during the cold war.
If the humans had taught the bear this deadly style, then they trusted him a great deal. The bear must have shown his loyalty to the humans in some way. Dave was dangerously close to becoming yet another example.
Dave sucked in his chest, becoming just slightly smaller. This was room enough, however, to slink an arm inside the bear's frame. Sensing a small gap, the bear squeezed harder, attempting to crush the life out of the albino ringtail. Dave managed to get the web like skin of the bear's furry armpit between his thumb and two forefingers. Dave pinched at the sensitive nerve endings therein. The bear grimaced. Dave twisted at the flesh. The bear roared out in pain.
The crushing hold loosened somewhat. Dave managed the same technique with his other hand. The hold loosened even more. Dave took the opportunity to slip out of the hold. He scaled the massive bear as if her were a ladder, all the while seizing one of the bear's arms at the elbow. Dave snaked one leg around the neck and the other beneath the bear's other arm. With both arms free, Dave firmly grasped the bear's sword arm, holding it upright.
Dave tilted backward, his weight tipping the scales and sending Dave and bear to the floor. Dave squeezed his leg about the bear's thick neck. Meanwhile, he pulled the arm far past the stress point of the joints.
The bear managed to grip Dave's ankle with a hand the size of a catcher's mitt. The sharp, black claws dug into Dave's skin, drawing blood.
Dave blocked out the pain, concentrating instead on applying the arm bar and the leg choke. Eventually the bear's grip grew more and more slack. Life left the bear, his bowels loosening and his body limp.
How many were left? Now that a police helicopter was on its way, the Russians had little time. Dave hobbled over to the stairs. He climbed up and retrieved his M10 and an uzi.
"You will be showing yourself now," said a thick Russian accent from below.
Dave took cover behind a wall. "Oh, Yeah? Why's that?" he called down.
"I have the doctor now. You will show yourself or she is dying."
Dave answered with a reference to manure.
"It is true, sobaka. You are now telling him is true," said the voice.
"Lieutenant, I'm sorry." It was Weisehund.
Dave took a peek. A white tiger, very evolved, had Dave's gun to her head and an arm hooked around her neck.
"So," he said. "You have her. You win. Go. What's stopping you?"
"I think nyet. You will be coming after her."
"So, this is a ploy to get rid of me. Hate to tell you this, kid, but you're on the wrong side."
"I am not believing your tricks."
"Tricks? How much brain washing have they done to you? Let me guess. They call us decadent. They say we cannot live peacefully. They say we have crime and poverty and starvation. I imagine you had suffered, too. They kept you in a cell, made you crawl through much and grime, kept you on the brink of starvation. All the while they told you that your suffering was our fault. Tell me, did you see one European within ten feet of you? Twenty? A hundred?"
This was met with silence. Dave focused, trying to judge the tiger's movements. Nothing.
"I'm sorry. I'm talking to the wrong fella. Wherever there is a pet, the master must be nearby. Where is your master?" asked Dave. "Pull at your leash and see who comes out of the shadows."
No response. Dave pressed on, "What? Are you all alone? I think not."
"It is being only me, sobaka. No more games now. I am not the fool," said the tiger.
Sobaka must have been some kind of insult. If the tiger took the effort to insult him, Dave must be on to something. "Oh," called he, "You may think you are independent. They may have given you some space and even a little liberty, but I know a pet when I see one. Your masters may not be here, but the leash is there just the same."
The tiger shouted something in Russian. He was losing his cool.
"You know, they don't care about you, not really. You are just a means to an end. You are a lower class of life form, a peasant, a peon, a pawn." Dave smiled at the alliteration. "I have been briefed on the violation of hybrid rights that take place in the Motherland. I can guess at the rest. They must have really put you through it to make you so loyal. They're no better than us, humans. Sometimes they are the lesser."
Again the tiger shouted out in Russian, then, "God made man! Man made us!"
Such conviction. That phrase had been drilled into his head. Dave moved to another window. The tiger was on edge, Dave wanted to push him further still, unsettle him. Dave replied from another location, causing the tiger to turn violently in that direction. Dr. Weisehund remained his captive and his shield. "Is that so?" said Dave. "That makes man little more than middle management. Why not get rid of the middleman and just say that God made us?"
"God made man! Man made us!"
"An 'no spill blood,' too, I suppose. We are beyond the Island of Dr. Moreau. That brings up a point, though. If God made man and man made us, that means man has played God. He has sinned against God in a most foul way. God must look upon us as abominations and upon man as sinners. Do you really believe that? Besides, man created us a long time ago. Our debt to them, if there ever was a debt, has long passed its statute of limitations. If anything, they owe us for rebuilding their world. They owe us for the sweat, blood, and tears we have shed for their sake. As yourself this, is this how they repay you? You are no more than a slave."
Shots rang out, the familiar pop of his Baretta Model 92F. He was firing wildly in Dave's vicinity. Dave stalked over to yet another window and took another peek. just then, Dr. Weisehund elbowed the tiger in the solar plexus and took off toward some cover. As the tiger turned his aim on her, Dave let out with the uzi. 9mm slugs tore through the tiger's flesh. He slumped to the ground.
"You all right?" called Dave.
"Jawohl."
"Dandy. I'll be down in a sec."
Dave walked to the stairs. His left shoe was soaked with blood. It sloshed and sucked with each step like he was halfway deep in a bog. Meanwhile, the spotlight of the police helicopter framed the location where the tiger had fallen. Dave climbed down the stairs. Set his weapon aside, raised his hands, and fell to his knees.
Soon after, the patrol cars pulled up.
In no time a swarm of polizei surrounded them. They brought Dave's hands behind his back and cuffed him as he lay on his stomach.
"Sprechen sie Englisch?" he yelled over the cacophony of sirens, rotor blades, and German orders. He repeated the phrase until someone finally answered.
"Yes. I speak some English," said a junior officer.
"Good. Get out your notepad. You're going to want to take this down. before you bring us in, I want all our possessions listed so that they may be accounted for later, understand? I will not leave a statement until a list is compiled, versteh?"
The cop nodded.
It had been Dave's experience with the police that not all of them were on the level. Many were quite slanted, in fact. However, they were city, and sometimes state, employee's and had to follow procedure. If Dave was going to deal with the red tape, he was damn certain it would be in his favor.
"Okay, the car, a blue Bugatti vermillion, is mine. All of the contents therein are in my possession except for a suitcase belonging to Dr. Weisehund. Items in my possession include a compressed audio file player, a gym bag with the following contents..."
Dave listed everything that came to mind, including his sports jacket, tie, and guns. Meanwhile, Dr. Weisehund appeared to be attempting to explain the situation to an inspector. Dave figured there was plenty of time for that later.
Two paramedics arrived, crossing over the lot from their parked ambulance. One cut away Dave's pant leg and removed his shoe and his sock to look at his wound. The paramedic had a nearby officer remove the handcuffs. They lifted him onto the stretcher. The uniformed officer then cuffed Dave to the stretcher and went with the paramedics as they carried him off to the back of the ambulance. Once encased within the vehicle, one of the paramedics took to cleaning the wound. The ambulance pulled out onto the dirt road and set out for the nearest hospital.
He lay bleeding, handcuffed to the stretcher, until a doctor could finally see to him. Under close observation, the doctor stitched up his leg. He also took a couple of X-rays to see if there were any hairline fractures. The bruising that had appeared on Dave's back, arms, and shoulders was of some concern to the young doctor. As always, one or two uniformed policemen followed him around.
In a hospital bed, Dave gazed past the officer on duty and out through the 4th story window. The lights of berlin blinked as if in a choreographed display of luminescence. It was akin to watching robotic fireflies. Dave's foot was suspended and a number of fluffy pillows were at his back. The white fur of his foot, once encrusted with his blood, was now bandaged.
Dave's keen ears caught the regular steps of the detective returning from a phone call.
Without looking, Dave asked, "Everything check out okay?"
The detective seemed reluctant to answer.
"I am who I say I am, right?" said Dave, finally turning his head in the detective's direction.
The detective was a grizzled looking goat that looked like a satanic twist on an old, pulp novel. His cheap trench coat was threadbare at the shoulders and elbows. An equally poor fedora adorned the goat's grizzled head.
"Lt. Dave Coontail, just as you said. Also, your companion checks out. She is the head of the Fraunhofer Institute of Berlin. The society, the British government, seems you have many friends in high places. Care to tell me what this is all about?"
"The Brits didn't tell you?"
The goat shook his head. "Not a peep."
Okay, the goat was something from a pulp novel. The America vernacular of the period gave it away. This guy either lived his dream or, like many germans, took his job way too seriously.
"Sorry, then. If they won't say, that means I can't say either," said Dave.
"I can keep you here, you know. We can lock you up for twenty four hours for no reason at all."
"Thanks, but i have already been delayed long enough. Did you ask Dr. Fraunhofer?"
The goat gave a look of annoyance. Apparently he did ask and she was not very helpful.
"Excuse me," said the attending doctor. The goat stepped aside and let the doctor pass.
"Okay," said the doctor as he looked at the chart. "Seems you have not broken any bones. Indeed, other than the bruising you are in good health and free to go. let me prescribe something for the pain."
"That won't be necessary, doc. Don't need it, thanks."
The doctor's eyebrows went up. "Very well. If that is your wish."
The doctor called a nurse over with a wheelchair. The goat waved her off. "I'll take it from here, sister."
Back at the police station Dave hobbled in and was promptly greeted by Dr. Weisehund. The white shepherd stood, well, sheepishly. After a moments hesitation, she walked forwards and uncharacteristically gave him a gentle hug. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wanted to visit you but they would not let me."
"That's okay," said Dave, giving her a pat on the back. She let go and the detective escorted them to his cluttered desk.
"So, you guys. What in Sam's Hell am I supposed to put in the report. I have dead Russians everywhere, loads of car crashes, gunfights like it's the O.K. Corral or something. For the love of Pete give me something, anything."
Dave sat across from the detective. He shrugged carelessly. "It's out of my hands, detective."
"Bah," said the goat. He opened a packet of gum and set to chewing a piece. A moment of inspiration struck the grizzled detective like a bolt of lightning. "Aha! We have your car. We have your guns. What do you say to that?"
"Fair point," said Dave. "Speaking of the car, you have a motor pool, right? You know, a place where you can work on the patrol cars and what not. I'm asking since, well, one of those dead Russians (okay, he wasn't dead at the time, so I will rephrase that), before he died, one of the Russian's managed to shoot out my gas tank. I have a leak as big as Watergate. It would appreciate a little assistance in that matter. Heck, just give me access to the shop and I'll do it myself."
The goat leaned back as if to better appreciate the situation. His broad, brown tie fell askance across a dress shirt the color of dried urine. "Well, seems we got something you want," said the German gumshoe. "How about a little trade?"
Dave raised a pink padded finger. "Get me my remote phone and I'll see what I can arrange."
The goat whistled at the nearest uniformed cop. In German, the detective asked to have the cell phone removed from evidence and brought to him as soon as possible.
After retrieving his phone, Dave limped off to somewhere private. He left the precinct through the main entrance and hobbled around to a side parking lot. He parked his bottom on the curb of some strip of landscaping. He dialed the office at central command.
"Yes. This is lieutenant Dave Coontail authorization code Charlie Bravo naught four. Patch me in to the Crowe call desk, please."
The military operator did as told, patching Dave through to a secure line at the estate.
"Lieutenant Coontail, the colonel is expecting your call. Please hold."
After a few minutes, colonel Greybeard picked up the line. "By the fire of Hades, man! What is going on?"
"You tell me," said Dave.
"Whatever it is, you know a great deal more than I."
"Is that so? And here I thought you knew we had a leak, a spy."
"Of course I know that, you fool."
Dave nodded to himself. He smiled, despite feeling used. The thing was, it did not surprise him the least. "Then I am a patsy. You sent me to Berlin to lure them out, the Russians."
"Russians? So that is who is behind this," said the colonel.
"And Dr. Weisehund. Did she know? You see, she has been put to great personal risk."
"Yes. Yes. She knew there would be some risk involved. She agreed to the terms."
"So, what of the spy?" asked Dave.
"We have her under close observation and are about to apprehend her at any moment."
"Her? Then it is a woman?"
"A woman we have suspected for some time now," said the colonel.
Dave thought for a moment. That familiar twinge in his gut told him something wasn't right. "Not the deer? Not Mrs. Foal?"
"That is the one," said the colonel.
Dave rolled his eyes. "Hate to tell you this, pops, but you got the wrong gal."
"What are you talking about? How could you know anything? We have ben observing her behavior and --"
"And thereby altering it. Think about it. The poor woman is stressed out. You pull her into meetings well above her pay scale, you send her off to retrieve files without the necessary clearance, what do you expect? On top of this the poor old gal never sees her husband I bet. Furthermore, she has to look out her window at what? A park full of deer! Deer once raised for the sport of the residing lord. My god,its obvious she isn't the one. She's just a civil servant for crying out loud, and a hard working one at that."
There was silence at the other end of the line, then a faint grumbling.
"What was that?" asked Dave.
"Okay. If you are so well informed maybe you can tell us who the spy is."
A wide grin spread across Dave's face. "With pleasure."
Dave took a dramatic pause. "Well, I also think the spy is a female."
"And why is that?" asked the colonel.
"No reason other than that it's lance corporal Longtail."
"Preposterous!" cried Greybeard. "What proof have you?"
"Oh, nothing solid. I suppose one could say it is more of a hunch, but my hunches have been known to be correct more often than not."
"Explain yourself," the colonel demanded.
"Fine." Dave looked up at the sky. The city lights had drowned out most of the stars. However, clouds reflected the glow with an eerie, antiseptic luminescence. "Being your personal assistant you would admit that she is privy to a lot of classified information."
"Of course. I trust her implicitly."
"Is that so? You know her well then?" asked Dave.
"But of course, you dullard. I have known her family for many years now."
"Have you noticed anything untoward in her manner? Has she been upset, withdrawn, troubled?"
There was a long pause.
"I take it that is a yes?" asked Dave.
"Yes. Yes. But we all go through troubled times. I confronted her about it. She said she and her boyfriend had broken up."
"I see. No attempts have been made to reconcile with her boyfriend?"
"Not that I am aware," said the old military man.
"Nor has she dated anyone since," said Dave, having already guessed at the situation.
"Again, not that I am aware."
"Well, whether you trust her or not, she is the spy I am afraid."
"How so? Defend you case against her."
"Well, on one occasion the day that I met her she was not wearing shoes."
"I fail to see the relevance."
"I'm getting to that," said Dave. "Furthermore, during your discussion with your colleagues I went for a walk. I asked if she cared to join me. She refused. I thought little of it at the time, but in retrospect I sense that she stayed behind in order to eavesdrop on your conversation. She was not wearing shoes because you would hear her heels on the marble floor."
"That is a great deal of supposition."
"Yeah, but it fits. You must admit that it fits more squarely than your flimsy case against poor Mrs. Foal. However, before you go charging in Longtail's room to put a bullet through her head (or whatever it is you do with traitors) I have a proposition. Since I have probably just saved you from a great deal of embarrassment I feel I am entitled."
"Very well, man, out with it," said the colonel.
"I suggest we let things play out as it were," said Dave. "Chances are whoever is pulling the strings is somewhere on your sceptered isle. Since you vouch for Longtail's loyalty, then it is clear she is neither spying for money or out of spite. My guess is that this boyfriend of hers is in the custody of the Russians."
"You think we can draw them out then?" asked the colonel. "Risky business, that. I should think they would be wary of you after tonight's misadventures."
"Perhaps, but we'll make it easy for them. However, I would suggest watching Longtail closely. They will likely contact her soon. it is important that we play into their hands. Make certain she is unable to make contact until I am there. We need to do this on our schedule. We can use Mrs. Foal as an excuse. Play up the fact that you suspect her and not Longtail. Once I get there we can put the next phase into motion."
"I expect that is not all. What do you want from this?"
"Well, Longtail has been compromised, as she not? You can't exactly keep her as your assistant. I would like from this for her to become my own attache. I could do with someone to organize my schedule and what not. Of course, this will leave you with a gap. I say promote Mrs. Foal. She seems a dedicated worker. I think after this she deserves better."
"I will consider it."
"Oh, one more thing. My car has been damaged in the firefight"
The colonel scoffed. "You armored it."
"I did, but not the underside. The gas tank was hit and I developed quite the leak I'm afraid. Furthermore it is currently in police custody here in Berlin. The detective wants to make an exchange. What can I tell him?"
"Lie," said the colonel.
So Dave did. "I will. See you back at Crowe."
Back in the precinct dave sat at the Detective's desk. "So, what must I tell you that I can get my car fixed and get out of here?"
The goat stoked his furry chin. "Seems I have you at a disadvantage."
"Not really," Dave said. "I could always come back for my car later."
Dr. Weisehund watched tis exchange with some interest, not knowing what might come next.
"Humor me, then," said the goat. "Give me a taste of what you know and we'll see about your car, eh? You can start with the Russians. Who are they?"
Dave raised his eyebrows. "Well, I don't know any names, but --"
"Quit monkeying around!" cried the goat.
"Well, my guess is that they were spies since to kidnap the doctor here. Apparently they wish her to build a weapon we have confiscated from a common enemy."
"So, that's why the the blueprints and that locked case of yours."
Dave nodded. "Yep. That's about all I know. I'm a frontline soldier in this. If you want more information I suggest talking with your superiors."
The goat threw up his hands. "Politicians. Well, I guess you're free to go."
"And my car?"
"Will be waiting for you in the motor pool garage."
Dave stood uneasily and turned as if to leave.
"Wait!" said the detective. "How am I supposed to fill out the paper work on this?"
Dave shrugged. "Does it matter. Most of it will be retracted or censored anyway."
The detective nodded. Dave had a point there,
It was nice not to have to work on his own car. Dave didn't feel up to it at the moment. The stitches in his ankle itched like crazy. Like his brothers, Dave was a fast healer. Itching was a good sign.
It was a quick patch up job. The polizei were kind enough to fuel the Bugatti up enough to make it to the nearest gas station. Dave thanked them and soon set off with Dr. Weisehund in tow.
"Was that you stomach growling?" he asked.
"It has been some hours since I have eaten."
They swung through a local burger. Again, Dave was not eating very healthy. It was hard to do on the road. He hoped to make it to Crowe without needing to stop for sleep.
Dr. Weisehund had the look of the hunted. Dave had seen it before. Wide eyes. Often looking over her shoulder. He decided it was best to calm her down.
"Dr. Weisehund, since you know something about hybrids I was wondering."
"What is it?"
He sipped his iced tea and set it back in the cup holder. "With all these different companies designing hybrids, how is it we haven't died out. Surely each company had a different patent."
"That is a fair question, one of some concern. It was cost prohibitive to have to continue design hybrids from scratch as it were. Including breeding capabilities in a hybrid's genetic make-up rectified that problem. A summit was held attended by the leaders in the field. Two scientists collectively developed a workable system for the safe breeding of hybrids. It came to be known as the Franklin-Munchausen model. This is why hybrids created by different institutions could breed with one another effectively. All designers from then on worked from this model.
"Ahh," said Dave. He had always wondered about that.
"However, there are limitations still. Breeds cannot for the most part mate outside their own species. There are a few exceptions, particularly in the more humanized hybrids."
"The more alike the genetic code, the more possible it is for the genetic species to procreate. The more highly developed, or A class hybrid has been able, on a number of occasions, mate with a human." She spoke between bites, hungrily chomping on her hamburger and fries drenched in mayonaise.
Dave had heard rumors of cross breeds, but the few he had come in contact with were pretty standard. A lion and a tiger, maybe. A human with another species was another matter entirely.
Dave let her eat in peace. He ate as he drove, a task he had perfected over the years driving cross country with his brothers. He ate slower than she, due mostly to the fact that he had to keep his eyes on the road. Soon, the greasy meal kicked in and the adrenaline wore off. She fell into a deep sleep. Dave did not sleep. He felt pretty wired, not through adrenaline, but through sheer will to get to Crowe. He squinted at the road before him, concentrating on the short expanse of light from his headlights, looking for curves and other changes in the terrain.
It was a dark night. He soon found his head hurting. He stopped squinting and slowed down. They would lose time, but at least he had more reaction time should something come up out of the dark.
Dave took a different route home. He drove further north towards Belgium. From there he could catch an early ferry to the isle of Britain. He stopped for gas a couple of times. Still the doctor slept. Morning cracked behind him, over the Swiss Alps far off in the distance. Dave chased his shadow west towards the sea, towards Crowe.
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