other, to the point that he was now fat, rather than skinny.
But that was the least of the changes. He’d gone through several different names, so many that even the Black Wolf didn’t know which was real. He even used “corporate” names — common aliases that were supposed to belong only to the Wolves.
“Breathe, please.”
He took a deep breath and held it.
“Again… one more time.”
“Enough with the damn breathing!” he yelled, slapping the doctor’s stethoscope away. “Give me the shots!”
The doctor stepped back, surprised, frightened.
He needed the serum, and the pills. The pills were for every day; the injections lasted longer.
There were other doctors who would supply him; he knew there were. It was only because of the perverse machinations of the Directors that he had to come to Nudstrumov.
A reminder of who was in control. As if he needed one.
Dr. Nudstrumov stepped over to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. He placed a metal case on the top of his desk and opened it. There were three hypodermic needles inside.
“Roll up your sleeve, please,” he said, taking one of the needles.
There was a knock on the door.
“Everything is fine,” said the doctor. “Please see to the patients.”
“Doctor?” said one of the nurses.
“It’s fine. Please see to the patients.”
The doctor took a small antiseptic wipe and cleaned a spot on his arm. A second later the long, thick needle plunged through his skin.
Warmth began spreading through his body immediately. By the time the third shot had been administered, he was back to his old self.
Not his old, old self, whatever that was. Back to what passed for normal now.
The doctor said nothing for a few minutes, returning the needles to the box, then tossing his gloves into a waste can at the side of the room.
“Do you think about the changes?” the doctor asked, sitting down.
“I don’t think at all.”
“The progression. It’s a downward slope. There’s going to come a point…”
Dr. Nudstrumov’s voice trailed off. He stared at the man he knew by many names, though he called him only Herr Schmidt.
“Do you shake when you take the pills?” the doctor asked finally.
“They have no effect.”
“I’m going to give you something to calm the shakes, and the pain.” Dr. Nudstrumov pulled over his prescription pad. “It’s not — it won’t have the effect on your metabolism that the shots have. It won’t restore you. But when you feel things getting bad, you can have some relief. It’s a sedative. You should be careful driving.”
He took the prescription without comment.
“I remember that first week,” said the doctor, his voice tinged with nostalgia and pride. “How we had to fight to keep you alive.”
“I don’t appreciate your sentimentality,” said the Black Wolf, rising and striding toward the door.
12
Nuri had barely enough time to pull out the mace as the dog charged into the room, saliva lathering from its mouth. His fingers were misaligned and much of the spray shot sideways. The dog’s teeth clamped around his left arm.
Nuri sprayed again, then smacked the dog in the snout. The animal let go, howling.
Off balance, he grabbed at the animal and fell to the side, tumbling against an upholstered chair. He reached into the fanny pack for one of the syringes. The dog tried to push itself away, snarling and shaking its head, crying, disoriented, and hurting at the same time.
It was a large mastiff. More pet than watchdog, it lacked a true killer’s instinct — fortunately for him. He grabbed a syringe, pulled the plastic guard off with his teeth and plunged the needle into the animal’s rump.
It whimpered, then crumpled over on its side.
Nuri swung his legs under him and grabbed for his pistol, sure the commotion would bring one of the mafia don’s guards in any second. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat.
He heard something squeaking behind him. He spun quickly before realizing the noise was coming from the earphone, which had fallen out.
No one was coming, or if they were, they were taking their time.
“What’s going on?” hissed Flash.
“I’m OK,” said Nuri.
“What happened? I heard you grunting.”
“There was a dog.”
“MY-PID didn’t say anything about it.”
“Are you looking at the image?”
“This screen is so small — I can see it now.”
“Tell the computer it has to scan for dogs — for anything living,” said Nuri, realizing he’d been too precise when he gave it the earlier instructions. “It’s only looking for people.”
“Shit.”
Nuri looked down. As powerful as the gear aboard the Reaper was, it had its limits.
The scent of mace was pretty heavy on the animal, and undoubtedly in the room. There was nothing he could do about it now, he told himself.
Nuri got to his feet and walked quickly to the door, pausing near the opening. The music was loud enough to vibrate the floor slightly — a good thing, he thought, slipping down the hall.
The hall led to an outside patio above the pool. Along the way there were two rooms on the right; the office was farther down on the left.
Neither of the doors on the right were closed. Nuri leaned in, glancing around. Both were richly furnished bedrooms. No computers, no people, and most importantly, no dogs.
The office was on the left. The door was locked.
A good sign, he thought.
Until Flash warned him that someone was coming from the pool toward the door.
He slipped back to the first open room on the right, just ducking out of the way as the outside door opened. It was one of the girls; he heard her humming to herself as she walked past him down the hall.
“Coast is clear,” said Flash.
Nuri started out of the room, then stopped as he heard the humming get louder. He slipped back, waiting for the girl to pass. She seemed to take forever, changing her song three times before finally coming past.
He waited another two or three minutes before easing toward the door again. Once more he had to stop mid stride as MY-PID alerted him that another girl was coming in. He stepped back against the wall a few feet from the threshold, holding his breath until she passed — then holding it again as she came back and went outside.
The long day had started to wear on him. He crossed the corridor, mentally cursing everyone — the Italians,
