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Then a voice came on. "My name is Matthew Hazzard, and I've got a secret." It was obviously not the boy's voice. |
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The camera pulled back to reveal the boy crouched in a cage with his legs pulled up and his face resting on his knees. He was naked, and his body was covered with thick black down. He looked like one of those prehuman models in glass-front dioramas of natural history museums. Except this model breathed. |
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From someplace in the unseen background came the sharp clanging of metal on metal. The effect was immediate. The boy hissed open-mouthed. He pulled himself up and slouched toward one side of the cage, hands pendant like a primate. |
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"Matthew used to play second base on Little League," the voice continued in a tone of fatuous amusement. "Number 11, for the Devil Dogs." A chuckle, then: "You scientists have such foresight." |
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Matthew slid down the bars into a squat, estimating the camera. |
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"The fact is, he used to be a normal, healthy all-American boy. Lived at number 12 Jason Street in Carleton, Massachusetts" |
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The boy let out a sharp cry. |
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"See, Dr. Julius Wick, he remembers," the voice said. "But in case you don't, it's where you and your colleagues at BiOmega Research labs a long time ago buried your dirty little secret called Black Flag. That nasty little genocide germ for use in Vietnam or wherever national security called. Just ask your colleagues Stefan Karsky, Maria Terranova, Marcus Wiley, and Jack Perry. Oh, I forgot. They're no longer with us. Gone to the great white petri dish upstairs. Which means there's only you. And Matthew here. As you can see, he's very much alive." |
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The boy growled at something off-camera. |
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"Where the hell did you get this?" DeVoe said. |
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"Your hired gun," Julius told him. |
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God . . . then who did they bury? DeVoe looked at McDermott. |
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But McDermott did not take his eyes from the screen. |
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"Like all boys," the voice continued, "he loves dogs." |
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Something off-camera snapped Matthew's head around. He slipped to his knees, letting out a rumble. It was answered by frantic whimpers. The camera swung left to a large brown mongrel cowering at the gate. "And this is Buster." |
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Buster was clearly terrified. His ears were flat and his head |
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