The reprehensible old creature staggered along in front of them and required the occasional push to keep him going. Still, he guided them, encouraged by an intermittent cuff to the head or tweak of his broken finger.

But the old monster's belligerence diminished in no way. At first, he took recourse to threats and name dropping. He was, he assured them, on a first-name basis with the current U.S. president. Moreover, he spoke daily with "Mallory," the next U.S. president, who he kept fully apprised of the details of the "world-changing research" he was doing at the facility.

At one point, his voice thick with indignation, the old man even pulled up and rounded on Tommy and his companions.

"You fools are throwing yourselves against the full weight of the U.S. government," the old degenerate screeched. "The research we're doing here will revolutionize society—mankind even. Do you really think anything you do will stop it?"

The volume of the old felon's voice had continued to rise throughout his short diatribe, and his last words were so choked in outrage that he barely was able to vent them.

For the first time, it struck Tommy that the old man truly felt his words would move them. It was difficult to imagine such tunneled vision, even for someone as long-lived and as experienced as Tommy.

All this horror is nothing more than a ghastly repeat of what Aaronov and his friends did under the Soviets, he thought, very nearly laughing as he did. Build an army with the strong, experiment on the weak. How did I not see this coming? It should have been obvious. Did Aaronov and his kind really expect it to work differently this time?

Tommy grabbed the silly old fool and pushed him onward. As if reading his captor's thoughts, the old man attempted to turn again.

"Do you think I don't know who you are, Kyle Wigand ... or whatever your name is?" Like Jeff, the old man seemed to believe that this observation would astound Tommy or buy the man some advantage. "You were the one who killed Tatia Krivov in New York, weren't you? She was the most powerful warrior ever born ... like a daughter to me ...."

The old man again rambled, this time for a few moments, before Tommy got his attention by breaking another digit. The villain's cries and screams were as nothing to him. All mercy and compassion for this creature and his kind had deserted Tommy Haas, forever.

After several more minutes of goading and pushing, they arrived at a basement door that was large, solid, and locked with a pad and keycard system. The old man nursed one more broken finger after having made an insulting and threatening comment in Russian to Christy Sue.

But the stubborn old man refused to open the door.

"I don't know the code," he lied. He had regained something of his composure after his earlier ramblings. "Look, I don't know any of these people's names. I learned my lesson about becoming personal with the patients in Russia."

Tommy bridled at the old man's use of the word "patients" to describe his victims, but the vile wretch hurried on.

"I don't even know if your friend is here. Look, it isn't too late to turn back—we might even find a place for you here." Hope began to creep into the fiend's voice, and, pulling out his most idiomatic English as he waved his arms about, he continued. "For chrissake, guys, everybody is getting rich here. There's more than enough for all of us. This is all nothing ... nothing. When Mallory is president, this place will be a boomtown. She has plans, big plans."

Sam had remained silent, but the man's pleading looks had shifted back and forth between the two of them, ignoring only Christy Sue.

"Better than that," the old monster went on, "we're on the brink of some huge discoveries. Once we crack the genome, there's no end to what we can do. Anyone can be Gifted! ... and ... and even guys like you ... you can have whatever you want. It'll all be just a gene manipulation away." He paused, dramatically. "Do you want to be able to fly? .... Once we're finished here, it's just a matter of time ...."

A finger across the old man's mouth brought silence.

The old shit stain really is like Jeff, thought Tommy, a bullshit salesman. For men like him, the answers were always just over the horizon. None of the things he promised would ever come to pass, because there was no scientific explanation for what people like Tommy could do. There never would be. And Tommy could imagine the old scoundrel making the exact same pitch to Mallory Chaney or to his Soviet overlords 40 or 50 years before.

And why shouldn't those people fall for it? Everything Aaronov offered was paid for by other people's money—and by other people's suffering. And the degenerate old Russian never had to show much in the way of actual results as long as contractors were getting rich and politicians were getting reelected.

Tommy had heard enough.

He pushed the man aside and kicked the large steel door from its hinges.

"Don't speak again until I tell you," was all he said to Aaronov.

Casting around with his Gift, Tommy could sense about 80 people in this section of the facility. Most were stationary, and a few were moving around. But there was a small knot of six to seven people just down the hall to the right. Tommy went there first. Looking in, he saw a group of men and women in surgical scrubs. The staff.

"Come here and bring whatever keys you have." He looked over to Sam. "Let's lock them up."

They didn't need anyone running about making this harder than it needed to be. After frisking them all for spare keys, Sam and Tommy sequestered Aaronov and the staff in an unused room near the security door. They allowed the floor manager to stay free and began a room-by-room search with her assistance.

When asked about Amy Lascar, all staff members had pleaded ignorance. Apparently, none of the abductees were known by anything other than a number that they were assigned on admittance.

The whole affair was vastly more painful than Tommy ever could have imagined. All of those they encountered were frightened and deeply disturbed. As a rule, humans don't do well in isolation, and the test-group victims were all caged in single-bed cells with no windows. According to those victims who they encountered, most of them only saw their tormentors when it was time for them to draw a fluid, give an injection, or to dish out some abuse. Some had been there for years, and a few spoke little or no English, confirming Tommy's earlier suspicion that this conspiracy went beyond the borders of the United States.

Of the 65 or so abductees in that section of the facility, about a dozen were seriously ill from the various experimental procedures that they'd undergone. Three seemed near death, with symptoms Tommy could only describe as ghoulish.

As Sam and Tommy opened each room and liberated the occupants, they asked them not to leave the area. It mattered little. Most of the detainees were so weak that there was little chance of them wandering off.

After 40 minutes of searching from room to room, they saw no trace of Amy.

Outside the last room, Sam turned to Christy Sue. "Is this the only area where they keep people in the test group?" he asked her quietly. She nodded. "Shit," he whispered. "Would she be with the control group?"

"No, I can't imagine why she would be. Once someone has been inoculated it would compromise their te...." She left off. "I don't know why she would be with them."

Tommy couldn't help but notice that Christy Sue had avoided looking down the hall in the direction of a large metal door he'd assumed was another entrance.

"What's down that way?" he asked gently.

She didn't answer but seemed to be attempting to compose herself.

Tommy looked to the floor manager, who had been following them meekly, only replying when asked specific questions. "What's through that door?" Tommy asked the woman.

"It's a storage area for tissue samples," she said, her voice barely audible.

Christy Sue began to cry again.

"Open it," he told the floor manager. "Open it," he demanded when she hesitated.

Pulling out the keys that they'd allowed her to keep, the woman went to the end of the hall and opened the large door.

The interior of the room was cool, so cool Tommy could see his breath. A tremor of emotion ran through him, and his knees nearly buckled. The faintest trace of Amy's scent lingered amid the smell of corruption and death. He wanted to cry. Even before he turned on the light, various scientific instruments arrayed on tables around the room were visible, and on the far side of the room, he could make out two metal tables covered with white sheets beneath which were what could only be human remains. The eight small metal doors set in the wall on the far side of the room said this was a morgue.

Tissue samples thought Tommy with disgust. He forgot Sam was standing next to him until the older-looking man placed his hand gently on his shoulder. Looking over, he saw tears flowing freely from Sam's eyes. Christy Sue and the other woman stayed near the door.

Without a word, the two men walked to the bodies on the tables. Neither was Amy, but both had been thoroughly dissected, and parts lay in containers nearby for testing. They moved to the wall. Inside the third metal drawer they opened, they found the Earthly remains of their friend.